TWO SIDES TO A STORY
by Darke Angelus
Summary: Volume 2 of the BV Trilogy- Vegeta finds his life without purpose and leaves Bulma and their infant son, encountering tortures that will quickly change his life forever. What will it take for the lovers to finally be reunited? COMPLETE
1. Aftermath

The Disclaimer: blah blah blah...DRAGONBALL Z ...yadda yadda yadda ...copyright of all characters... blah blah blah... the great, all-powerful Akira Toriyama... yadda yadda yadda... C'mon an get me ya lousy Feds!...HAH!

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This story takes place right after the "Cell Games" Saga.

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TWO SIDES TO A STORY

Prologue

Pride.

It was perhaps the most important aspect of a Saiyan warrior's personality; to maintain composure during crisis. To retain one's dignity in the midst of conflict. Vegeta, last Prince of the extinct Saiyan Empire, had his limits tested to their extremes when the Android threat finally arrived and he was found to be severely lacking. It had made no difference that he had finally attained his heart's desire. He had finally managed to obtain the coveted ascension of the revered status of Super Saiyan.

It hadn't been enough.

That was the most crushing realization to his already battered composure and it proved devastating to his self-esteem. Three years of fatalistic training to achieve his treasured goal. Another two in the Room of Spirit and Time to surpass that and in the end he had been bested by an eleven-year-old child. That knowledge was unendurable and his pride had shattered like glass even as he now watched Cells ashes scatter to the four winds.

Deprived of his arch-rival, cheated from his sworn revenge, he was left behind to wonder just what the hell had happened. Where had he gone so wrong? Spread out before him were the craters and charred earth that signified his brutal defeat both without and within. The battlefield that had become a graveyard; Android Number 16, Kakarrot, more importantly, Trunks- his son. They had died and he had proved useless, in the end. The satisfaction of becoming Super Saiyan finally withered up and died leaving him hollow inside.

There was nothing here for him now. For the majority of his life, his path had been dictated by the ambitions of another. When he had finally obtained his freedom, he had allowed his insane training to develop into shackles and keep his attentions diverted solely on his goal. Where were the rewards of his success? What did he have to show for his sacrifice? More scars on his body, more damage to his already damaged psyche, more bruising to his deflated ego. His very soul throbbed with a dull pain that no sensu bean could repair. Even worse, he was at a loss as to how he could possibly ease that persistent ache.

Vegeta found himself deliberately avoiding any thoughts of what the future may hold for him now. For his entire life he had struggled and battled to obtain his birthright. He was now the revered Super Saiyan of Vegetasei; a fevered goal that had eaten up over thirty years of his life to attain. The reality of the situation was only now becoming brutally clear to him: Who the hell cared? He had no subjects to lord it over, no Empire to defend with this God-like status, no people at all save two pathetic hybrids, one of whom had managed to surpass him with child-like ease. The battle against the androids, specifically Cell, had been like a slap across the face. Unwilling to see but helpless to prevent it, the blinders around his eyes finally fell. Vegeta was now forced to take a thorough inventory of himself.

He didn't like what he saw.

Chapter One

After Mirai Trunks returned to his former timeline, a semblance of normalcy returned to all inhabitants of the Earth, including the heroes who had emerged during the Cell crisis. Riding on the laurels of the efforts of the Z Fighters, Mr. Satan basked in the adoration of his fans and milked it for all it was possibly worth. An enormous franchise was built on his name that encircled the globe. He became an extremely wealthy and powerful man, not regretting any ill-gained cent.

The rest of the surviving Z Fighters faded back into the deliberate obscurity of their own lives. Tien and Chiaotzu retreated to the mountains to continue their meditations and whatever odd characteristics made up their unique partnership. For Yamcha, the timing of the end of the Cell Games came just as baseball season was gearing up. He wasted no time rejoining his old team, the Taitans, in their pro-tour roster for the upcoming World League. Krillin settled down for a well-deserved vacation at Master Roshi's island. He was frequently visited by Android Number 18, who was trying to keep her initial interests vague and not doing so great at the pretense. Remaining behind at Dende's Lookout, Piccolo decided for once in his life that he craved the company of his own kind and decided to stay.

Acutely feeling the loss of Gokou, Chi Chi and Gohan returned home to Mount Paozu to cope with their staggering grief over the heroes' ultimate sacrifice. Bearing the news with unusual stoicism, Chi Chi maintained her composure for the sake of their son who was rendered virtually monosyllabic from the loss. Bulma wanted to share in the family's lamentation but finally decided to keep her distance for now.

Besides, she had problems of her own.

Hovering back in the shadows of Capsule Corporation like some insubstantial ghost, Vegeta prowled the rooms and corridors restlessly. He had since moved back into his previous quarters inside of the main building instead of living in the cramped confines of Capsule 3. His efforts of actually fighting alongside of the rest of Earth's heroes instead of turning on them had not gone unnoticed by either of her parents. Dr. Briefs felt particularly awful for his past treatment and actively tried to resolve the still-existing tension between them, to no avail. Vegeta purposely ignored him like he did the rest of the Briefs, including Bulma and their infant son. He kept his own brooding council either in his room or out on the veranda, immediately moving somewhere else whenever someone came too close or when the questions would start. His cold demeanor, fortunately, did not appear to be one of viciousness or spite. If anything, it was almost the act of someone who felt terribly ashamed...

...or grieving.

Observing him from a distance, Bulma alone knew what he was feeling. The alien really was the last of the full-blooded Saiyan's now, a prince with no people to rule and having no more purpose to his existence. There was no threat looming on the horizon that he could prepare for. His unusual inactivity was perhaps the most disturbing thing of all for her to witness. The gravity simulator sat on the grounds untouched and ignored. All that Vegeta did now was watch TV in his room, eat or sleep. His pattern was much like his disposition: unpredictable, solitary, without direction.

As much as she would like to extend some measure of comfort towards the stricken Saiyan, Bulma too, was coping with some issues of her own. She had lost her best friend during the Cell crisis. She and Gokou had been nearly inseparable companions since she was a teenager and on the hunt for the revered dragonballs. She'll never forget that spunky little fighter with his tail trailing along behind him, innocent and trusting and already powerful beyond belief. He had been four years younger but hadn't hesitated to join in her travels, becoming her unofficial 'body-guard' along the way. Gods, the adventures they had gotten into! This time there was going to be no miraculous resurrection on his behalf. Gokou had been given the choice and had opted to remain in the afterworld for the good of Earth. That choice hadn't sat very well with Bulma. She still couldn't believe that her dearest friend wasn't coming back.

Every time she turned to her infant son for comfort, she saw the face of the teenager that he would grow into. Slightly taller then her own five foot, three inch frame, with her blue eyes and exotic hair color but with the darker skin tone, sharp features and athletic build of his sire. Another Bulma, not unlike the present one in disposition, had raised Mirai Trunks in that harsh environment. She had focused all of her resources into their mutual survival, remaining alone and unloved herself.

From what little Bulma had heard, the future the androids had created had been absolutely brutal and the teenager that had emerged from the ruins had possessed the same rage and propensity for violence that characterized the Saiyan breed. Fortunately he had been tempered by his mother, trained by Gohan and had never known his father. The Vegeta of that time-line had died shortly after his birth. He'd never had the opportunity of influencing his son into embracing the darker side of their lineage. There was so much that the present Bulma wanted to know. It was obvious that both time-lines were drastically different with similar variables resulting in divergent out- comes. What she wanted to know most were questions Mirai Trunks could not answer. Had the Vegeta of the future fallen prey to a condition known as the V'Nhar? In his weakened state, had he allowed an earth woman to nurture his ailing body and soul? Had the two shared intimacy and confidences as they became something less than friends and something more than lovers? According to Trunks, his mother had very little good to say about the Saiyan. That led Bulma to speculate that the boy's conception had not had the endearing and lasting consequences on her doubles life, as it had on her own.

Before he returned to his own time-line, a resurrected Mirai Trunks and the others had told Bulma of the events of the final battle that the Saiyan would never have admitted voluntarily. Intrigued, she listened to how Vegeta had over-reacted to his son's death during a crucial point in the conflict and had nearly cost all of their lives in the error. As if to atone for that weakness, he had tipped the scales in Gohan's favor. In an unexpected move, he had succeeding in a direct attack that had distracted Cell and allowed the boy to finish the villain, once and for all.

Everyone's words had carried barely veiled surprise at Vegeta's selfless actions but, to their added shock, Bulma was hardly fazed by the admission. She had viewed Vegeta's potential in a too brief fling back in a sumptuous hotel suite over two years ago. She was able to recognize the similarities in his present temperament and wasn't assured by what she saw now. Prone to depression, the Saiyan had lapsed into another one of his deep apathetic moods. Torn between past resentment and her current worry, she locked the Dragonball radar in the company safe as a precaution and kept a keen eye on his eating habits. Since he wasn't absorbed into an active workout schedule, his food intake was dramatically reduced. More often than not, he filled his plate only once and left the table without a word.

In the middle of all of the tension, little Trunks continued his endearing antics initially unfazed by the intentional disinterest from his father. He had developed an odd habit of singling Vegeta out and extending his arms to the Saiyan whenever he was within sight, often babbling in delight. Casting him only a disgusted sneer, Vegeta gave him a wide berth and went on his way. It wasn't surprising that the baby began reacting to the aggression on some unconscious level. Before long, he began a plaintive wailing through the night that no member of the family could placate.

Tolerating a full two weeks of Vegeta's sulking, Bulma finally decided that enough was enough and a confrontation was in order. The direct knock on his door was ignored, which didn't come as much of a surprise. What she saw when she entered his room, certainly was.

Vegeta was just in the process of encapsulating a large duffel bag when she boldly walked in. He glanced up in surprise but just as quickly dismissed her as he pulled on a windbreaker hanging on the bedpost.

"You're leaving," she stated in a small voice.

"Yes," he said without emotion.

Chewing the inside of her cheek she said, "It... it's going to take me some time to prepare the Capsule for- "

"-I'm not going back into space."

A wall of silence fell between them as each one regarded the other. Motherhood had been generous to Bulma who had quickly regained her svelte figure soon after her pregnancy. Very little had changed in her appearance but her personality had evolved considerably. Gone was that spoiled, self- centered immaturity so mocked by the other Z Fighters, who had been her closest friends. Giving birth had matured her very quickly and she now knew that her days of gallivanting around the planet, much less the galaxy, were over. To be honest, it came as something of a relief.

Vegeta's dark eyes narrowed in agitation as her scrutiny continued. The intense training he had subjected himself to had molded him into a faultless muscular physique that was not grossly contradictory to his small stature. Unless he was powered up, he still had that attractive litheness to his form she remembered so fondly. And intimately. The only thing that had changed in his appearance, was the addition of subtle lines on his face and around his eyes from his prolonged experiences in the Room of Spirit and Time.

When it became apparent that he wasn't going to volunteer any information, she attempted, "Where are you going to go?"

"Anywhere but here."

"B-but this is your home now! Your son- "

He released an animalistic snarl and zipped up the front of his jacket in preparation to leave. "That repulsive little creature is yours. This home is yours. I want no more part of any of this!"

Beginning to get angry, Bulma said through stiff lips, "I never forced any responsibilities on you, Vegeta. All I ask is that you stick around and- "

"-You ask too much," he snapped, pushing her aside as he stepped past her and out the door.

Following him doggedly down the stairs, she started yelling after him, "You don't know the first thing about Earth and it's customs. All that you're going to do is cause trouble! I know you, Vegeta!"

He turned in mid-step and pointed a rigid finger at her midriff. "Too much time has passed for our familiarity to matter, woman. You are as much a stranger to me as I am to you. Let's keep it that way."

The mocking, sarcastic side of his personality that had endeared him to her now appeared to have been beaten into submission by his more sinister characteristics. She should not be challenging him right now; deep down she knew that he was in no shape for a moral debate but her maternal instincts pressed on, unbidden. "You're forgetting one thing, Vegeta. Our son! What do you have to say about that?"

Her parents were just rushing into the living room, alerted by the arguing pair. They were stunned witnesses when the Saiyan turned on her again and snarled through clenched teeth; "I wish that you and that bastard half-breed had died during the birth, then have the pair of you mock me with your existence!"

There were horrified gasps from Dr. and Mrs. Briefs at his heartless statement. Locking eyes again, Vegeta and Bulma waged a silent war of outrage and hatred. In as steady a voice as she could manage, Bulma hissed out; "I want you to leave right now. Don't even think about coming back, Saiyan."

Growling, Vegeta spat on the carpet and bared his teeth at her. "You've no worries there, bitch. Not after what you've done- "

"-!GET OUT!" she shrieked, pointing at the front door.

Permitting her the luxury of the last word, the Saiyan turned his back on all of them and strutted outside. A flash of blue ki fire and he was gone. As if in response to the sudden tension, Trunks woke up from his afternoon nap and began crying inconsolably.

Harried and frustrated, Bulma managed to get him settled and sat in the rocking chair beside the child's crib. She kept a protective eye on the boy as he kicked restlessly at the blanket covering him, clearly upset. She wondered uneasily if the child was sensing his father's absence from the Headquarters building. It was the first time that Vegeta had left the compound since he had moved back in and this time it appeared to be for good.

"Hnh. Good riddance," Bulma sniffed but her eyes betrayed her by immediately rolling towards the window and looking skywards. Trying to get the Saiyan out of her system was like trying to quit smoking; she knew it was bad for her but –damn!- it just felt so good when she did it! Of course, her last time with Vegeta had been in the living quarters of Capsule three just before he had left to train in space. By then, she had purposely stopped taking the pill and had resolved to couple with him before she lost him entirely to his ambitions. The one time had been enough. After she had left him, she had gone to her bedroom and laid on her back with her feet braced against the headboard. For the next few hours, she allowed his thick essence completely permeate her fertile womb...

It hadn't been an easy pregnancy by any stretch of the imagination. It had been further complicated by her not being able to confide to her obstetrician about the fetus's extra-terrestrial origins. She was constantly weak, even though her food intake had tripled, and when the baby started moving she would be driven to her knees by a super-human kick or flailing arm against her fragile uterus. Questions and concerns plagued her but she insisted on keeping her pregnancy a secret from her friends. Part of it was stubborn pride, a virtue she possessed in as much abundance as the alien who had impregnated her. She had chosen to do this of her own accord and had weighed all of the advantages and disadvantages before she had insisted on making love with Vegeta. She didn't need anyone giving her second doubts about her decision and she certainly didn't want to hear speculative horror stories. She was scared enough. Reluctantly, another reason for her self-imposed isolation was a small sense of shame. She knew the other Z Fighter's thought little of Vegeta and still distrusted him. He had few redeeming qualities and what little he did have; he kept well hidden from prying eyes. No one would believe her reasons for defending him and Vegeta would never forgive her for betraying his confidence. It was for the best that she stayed close to home with only the support of her parents easing her apprehension.

But it had been so hard...

Six months into her pregnancy, Vegeta had finally returned to earth for provisions and repairs. She had expected him much earlier, when her stomach hadn't been so noticeable. Actually, she went out of her way to avoid him as he waited impatiently for the Capsule to be space-worthy again. She would never know his motivations for deliberately seeking her out that day. Her father had a work crew detailing the gravity projectors and her mother had cooked a huge banquet that could have fed an army. His two life essentials had been fulfilled; why, then, had he decided to look for her? To brag about his training accomplishments? To piss and moan about some design flaw in the capsule?

...To say hello?

She would never know. She had resolved to leave the main building shortly after his arrival, stating to her confused parents that she had some last minute errands to run. For perhaps the first time in her life, shopping was really the last thing on her mind. Her feet were throbbing and her back was killing her and the baby had decided to pick that day to practice his kata in her already bruised womb. Sitting at a settee outside of a quiet bistro, she was nursing a lemonade and some melba toast to curb her nausea, when a figure in blue and white dropped out of the sky and landed right beside her.

"Filling your face again," Vegeta said in that smug, condescending tone of his. "I should have known. You're not a hard person to find."

"Vegeta!" Bulma said in shock. Several of the patrons were murmuring to themselves over the Saiyans sudden appearance. In his form-fitting blue body suit and white armor he made for a striking sight on the normally quiet shopping district, certainly a break from the ordinary. He ignored the comments and stares he was receiving and kept his ebon regard trained on her face. There was no malice in his calm features, only that gloating smirk. It was as if he had a secret to tell and was eager to confide it to the only person he trusted in the entire universe.

Bulma was caught entirely off guard and her hand spasmed around the glass and spilled the contents. Juice and ice cubes ran across the small table and into her lap and she got to her feet with a gasp, brushing off the moisture with frantic hands. She grabbed a handful of napkins and was patting her slacks when she registered a sharp intake of breath. Looking up she saw that his gaze had dropped to the gentle swell of her stomach. His slanted eyes were wide with surprise, the pupils had contracted into tiny pinpoints of concentration. The normally healthy flush of color across his cheeks had paled considerably.

"Vegeta, I can explain... I-I-" Bulma stammered helplessly and then lapsed into stricken silence, waiting for his reaction.

Very slowly, he raised a hand palm-up several inches from her stomach and the fingers glowed a pale yellow. Barely five seconds passed before he lowered his hand to his side again, the limp fingers curling into a tight fist. It seemed an eternity before he finally raised his eyes to hers. The betrayal in them shocked her to the marrow.

Oh, dear Dende, he knows. Just like that, she thought with a mixture of terror and hope. "I know what you're going to say. I know that you-"

He didn't give her any chance for explanations. Releasing a terrifying roar of anger his ki burst into blue fire around his body. He bared his teeth at her in hatred before he took to the sky in a desperate retreat.

Watching the aftermath of his energy scar the atmosphere, Bulma collapsed into the nearest chair and held her face as she started weeping in shock and grief. This had been her biggest fear; confronting Vegeta about her pregnancy when he had made it clear to her that he had never wanted to be a father. She knew she should not have avoided him. However, she felt that the explanation would have come much easier after the birth, when he could see for himself the miraculous life he had helped to create. As things stood now, the only thing worse then his reaction was that he could have killed them both on the spot. From the look on his face, he had been very, very close. Why he had chosen to leave her, them, alone, would forever be a mystery to her. Shivering as an after-reaction to the near- tragedy, Bulma lost her battle with her stomach and vomited stale lemonade onto the patio stones. She cursed the wetness between her thighs and blotted away the spilled liquid as she staggered to her feet. Pulling the soaked napkins away she saw that they were smeared with blood. Her surroundings dimmed as she became lightheaded and she fell strengthlessly to her knees. Dimly, before she fainted, she could hear someone talking urgently into a cellphone, calling for an ambulance.

When she woke up in the hospital, both of her parents were by her bedside. And only them. "...Vegeta?" she asked through paper-dry lips, staring up at their worried faces through a veil of tears.

Mrs. Briefs was too inconsolable to form words and her father took one of her hands and said, "He's gone, Bulma. He went back into space several hours ago."

"Did he... did he say anything?" she managed to rasp out.

Dr. Briefs hesitantly shook his head but she could see the lie in his eyes. She decided that she did not want to press the issue. She could well imagine the Saiyan's harsh words, spoken in a moment of hatred and betrayal and did not want that condemnation hanging over her head. Had she really thought she had weighed all of the options in her decision to become pregnant with his child? The reality was becoming brutally clear: she hadn't even come close.

By her third trimester Bulma developed placenta previa, severe vaginal bleeding, and spent the last two weeks before delivery confined to a hospital bed. Ironically, the birth had been the least painful of her ordeals. Consenting to a Cesarean, she had been blissfully numb from the waist down and had her son in her arms in mere hours. Just looking at his pudgy, wrinkled face had made all of the pain and fears of the last nine months worth it. Holding him in the delivery room, she had wept tears of relief and joy, counting every little finger and toe to assure herself that he was healthy and perfectly normal.

And he would have been, if it hadn't been for the little tail flailing in distress behind him. The surgeon and nurses around her had been thunderstruck at the sight of it. The tail immediately curled around Bulma's wrist in a panicked, instinctive gesture, the soft downy brown fur coated with birth fluids. Bulma's tears of relief turned into plaintive sobs and she cradled the wailing babe even as the nurses were trying to retrieve him. The tail was just too much for her to cope with, a reminder of the absent Saiyan who should have been by her side instead of coldly leaving her to her fate. She felt brilliant hatred towards Vegeta at that moment and in a fit of spite made a decision that she would later regret. No one, not even her parents, ever knew the truth of the fate of that innocent appendage. It was a secret that Bulma was prepared to take to the grave.

Getting up from her chair, Bulma moved over to the window and looked out through troubled eyes at the sprawling buildings of the Capital. There was a sense of foreboding to Vegeta's departure, a crushing finality that she could not put her finger on. In the pit of her stomach she knew that he would not be coming back; pride and honor be damned, there was only anger and betrayal in his heart at the moment. He was now loose on an unsuspecting planet, whose most powerful defender was dead. A rash of goose flesh erupted on both of her arms at the implications the future may hold.

Give me a sign, Bulma thought desperately. If I've made a mistake telling him to leave, please give me some kind of sign.

At that precise moment, Trunks drew a deep lungful of air and screamed.

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Chapter Two: Now completely on his own, Vegeta decides to play tourist and make the attempt to 'blend in'. You know that this can only end in disaster... 


	2. Forlorn Destinations

Two Sides to A Story  
  
Chapter Two  
  
  
  
And to think he had actually been excited…  
  
It wasn't the kind of anticipation he had ever felt before a purging mission. That kind of excitement always coiled his muscles and spiked his ki, enhancing his aura with a deadly competence that was second only to his bloodlust. Nor had it been the type of anxiety associated with a meeting before Frieza, although the tightness of his gut had been similar. It had been one created out of fear back then, not for any routine disciplinary action. No. Verbal abuse he could handle with ease. It was the OTHER means of castigation that the depraved tyrant resorted to, when the mood struck him, that reduced Vegeta to a terrified nine-year-old chimp.  
  
This was an inexplicable sensation, full of exhilaration and a puzzling sense of something almost foreign to his rough personality. Cheeriness. A part of it was the satisfaction of attaining his life's goal: He had finally made the ascension to Super Saiyan. It had been everything he could have dreamed of. Words actually failed in their one-dimensional descriptions of the feat. There was so much more training that he had to do to effectively shape this primal force but he knew that he had to wait. His body was already healing of the wounds it had sustained, prior to the transformation, but the Capsule was severely damaged by the meteorite storm that had been the precursor. His provisions were also dangerously low, a potential death sentence to a ravenous Saiyan in the height of his prime. Shelving his training ambitions he made what makeshift repairs to the capsule he could and entered the coordinates of his next destination.  
  
It was time to return home.  
  
As ever, his feelings when the pure blue marble came into view were mixed. Three years ago he had just looked to Earth as a conquest. Nothing more or less. Get the Dragonballs, make the wish, rule the Universe. No fuss, no bother. Things had been so cut and dry back then. After his resurrection from Frieza's wrath, the world had become a refuge. Made even more hospitable by a certain blue-haired female who had opened her home to him without asking for any favor in return. The third time, the planet became his sanctuary and this time he had actually stuck around for close to a year. And why not? He'd had food, shelter and a modicum of companionship. There was also another appealing factor: One in the form of a genius with no equal, who possessed a fantastic body that was both firm and supple in all of the right places and who actually tolerated his bullshit. Bulma Briefs was also an incredible piece of ass, let's NOT forget that almighty fact, if honesty was to be the issue here. If they hadn't been compatible in that one area at least, the Saiyan certainly would never have stuck around as long as he had. At the present, however, there was something more driving him to return to Capsule Corporation then supplies and repairs (and, dare to hope, a quick screw). He had an enormous secret to tell and he wanted to confide it to the only person on the entire world that he dared to trust.  
  
Trust. Hnh. There was another word that didn't enter his vocabulary very often. It was as close to an approximation to how he really felt towards her. He owed her his life several times over but she had never brought it up once. In Vegeta's circle, a person did not do a favor unless they were expecting one in return. Bulma appeared to genuinely be doing it out of the generosity of her own heart. She called it love, a human word with such a seemingly infinite range of inflections. A human could use the word to describe a mate or a favorite meal. The Saiyan approximation was "Sihskar" and used only in reference to convey trust in another person, which in itself was rare enough among the cruel breed. It was as close to what Vegeta would allow himself to feel whenever Bulma came to mind. He had felt it the first time he had seen her on Namek.  
  
It had been trust at first sight.  
  
He landed the damaged capsule in the courtyard. Dr. Briefs was there to meet him with an odd expression on his moustached face. It wasn't his usual personable look but something vaguely resembling worry, for some reason. As usual, the Saiyan dismissed the old goat as soon as he told him what he needed.  
  
He had barely finished that task when Mrs. Briefs ran over and practically flew into his arms, smothering his cheeks with kisses as she hugged him with all of her might. Extracting the blonde's arms actually took an effort but he didn't want to hurt her. An injury would mean she couldn't cook and it was the one thing the vacuous female excelled at.  
  
She got in one more kiss before he managed to push her away at arm's length. "I'm sooo glad you're back, Vegeta! Things just haven't been the same since you've been gone!"  
  
"I don't doubt that," he said smugly.  
  
"Oh, I mean it. I really do! I'm going to cook a huge meal to celebrate your return. What would you like? Roast beef? Turkey? Lamb? -"  
  
His stomach pounced on the words. Two months of rice and Kraft dinner got old real fast. "All of the above, woman," he responded with a husky growl.  
  
The blond tittered and her generous bosom bounced with her mirth. "I'll get started right away. There's so much to tell you! I don't imagine that you know that Bulma-"  
  
"Vegeta," Dr. Briefs cut in quickly, "This is going to take several hours. Why don't you go inside and get cleaned up?"  
  
The Saiyan knew that he was rank. He had been rationing his water for the last two weeks and couldn't spare the precious resource for even a quick shower. Standing a few feet away, Bulma's mother was fanning the air in front of her face, trying to be discreet about it. His shoulders started to sag in disappointment but he straightened his spine. "Fine," was all he said and jumped up to the third floor veranda to enter the house through the living room. Below, Dr. Briefs had stepped over to his wife and began speaking to her quickly.  
  
Instead of making a direct course to the nearest bathroom, Vegeta went to Bulma's quarters and stared at the closed door. "Woman…" He cleared his throat self-consciously. "Bulma…are you in there?" He tapped the surface with a knuckle and then tried the doorknob. It swung open easily.  
  
Bulma's personal quarters were empty. Judging by her scent she had been in the room shortly before him. He could hear the abrupt sound of a car starting outside. By the time he moved over to the balcony, she was pulling out of the compound in her favorite yellow convertible. All he caught was a glimpse of her blue hair before she rounded the block and was gone from his sight.  
  
"Damn it!" he swore and marched back into the room. He had just missed her!  
  
He considered his surroundings and was only left with a mild headache at the sight of such disarray. The blue carpet of the bedroom was hard to see under all of the books, dirty clothes and equipment from the lab. There was a change of clothes on the bed and he picked up a dress and held it to his nose, inhaling Bulma's distinctive, feminine scent. There was a faint smile on his face from the familiarity of the comforting smell, it was one he had missed. He rubbed his cheek against the smooth fabric like a cat marking his scent on a favorite possession. He held it against him until he took a closer look and held it at arm's length in shock.  
  
It was double its usual size.  
  
"Damn, woman," he muttered under his breath. "Just how much of your mother's food have you been packing away?"  
  
After that confusing discovery, he took his shower and saw to it that the provisions in the capsule were restocked. By the time he had finished, Mrs. Briefs informed him that his meal was ready. He spent the next two hours cramming every available calorie he could find down his maw, hardly noticing the woman's odd silence. Usually the blond was babbling a blue streak but she was strikingly quiet as she served him and refilled his plates. She actually jumped when Vegeta pushed the last course away from his place setting and barked out; "Where is she?"  
  
Mrs. Briefs began wringing the hem of her apron. "Wh-who?"  
  
"The little blue-haired minx who could be your physical double, if she donned a wig. Your daughter, of course!"  
  
"She-she went out on some errands."  
  
"Where did she go?"  
  
"I-I…don't know exactly."  
  
Drumming his fingers lightly on the tabletop, the Saiyan persisted, "When will she be back?"  
  
Swallowing, Mrs. Briefs said the only thing that wasn't deliberately evasive. "I don't know that either…"  
  
Submerging a grumble of displeasure, Vegeta got up and proceeded to the nearest exit. He immediately took to the sky and headed into the center of the Western Capital. His keen eyes roved along the citizens moving along the sidewalks and he was dismayed that Bulma's hair color was not particularly original among the female populace. More than once he gave a woman the fright of her life as he dropped out of the air beside one, took note of her face and took off again without so much as a word of explanation. He was just about to give up when he caught sight of Bulma sitting alone outside of a small restaurant and he betrayed a small smile of relief as he descended.  
  
"Filling your face again," he said, reveling in her apparent shock. "I should have known. You're not a hard person to find."  
  
She gasped in surprise, spilled her drink and got to her feet. The tale of his great accomplishment he so wanted to confide to her, died in his throat at the sight of her prominent stomach. He couldn't form words and was barely able to raise his hand and let his probing ki tell him what he lacked the courage to ask.  
  
A small defenseless presence in her womb. It radiated a near-existent aura that was half-human and half-Saiyan. There could absolutely be no doubt of the babe's parentage, or the role he had unwillingly played in its unique conception. He raised his eyes to Bulma, barely seeing through the veil of murderous intent that had fallen over his vision. Screaming, he fled from her before he could turn her and the city into ashes. He knew he was running. From her. From them. He had not matured enough in his limited time with his newfound independence to forsake it so abruptly and become a father.  
  
Or a husband.  
  
Dr. Briefs had anticipated his state of return when his wife informed him that Vegeta had left. Capsule Three was fully operational and ready for take-off when the livid alien landed in the compound. Sputtering a scathing litany of curses in every language he knew, the Saiyan charged into the capsule and blasted off. Right then and there, he had made the decision that he was never going to return. Screw the Android threat. Fuck Earth. He hoped that they would all just die. He didn't give a shit anymore!  
  
But he ended up coming back three months later…Unfortunately.  
  
  
  
On his preliminary arrival to Earth, Radditz's scouter had transmitted the following statistics about this odd world to Vegeta and Nappa's own scouter databases:  
  
Surface Gravity: 9.78 m/s^2  
  
Mass: 5.98 X 10^24 kg  
  
Dipole Field Strength: 0.3076 gauss-Re^3  
  
Obliquity to Orbit: 23'45"  
  
Moment of Inertia: 0.3308 I/mr^2  
  
Surface Pressure: 1014 mb  
  
Terrestrial Magnetic Field Present  
  
Mean Surface Temperature: 281 k  
  
Solar Irradiance: 1367.6 w/m^2  
  
Atmospheric Composition: N2 + O2  
  
What it had failed to mention was just how screwed up the damn inhabitants actually were.  
  
Vegeta encountered so many diverse languages and cultures, not to mention people, that they should have occupied a dozen varied worlds all of their own. And that was just in a few short days! The Saiyan stopped long enough to decide whether he could understand the foreign words spoken to him and, more often then not, took off in pursuit of something less exotic.  
  
In one place that was chiefly arid desert, humans in costumes were patrolling the rough terrain, searching for something that appeared to be eluding them. Vegeta had almost gotten his ass shot off by an over- enthusiastic F-18 pilot who tried to include him in a strafing run over a seemingly deserted village. He shot out one of the turbines in revenge and contemplated nailing the idiot pilot who was fortunate enough to jettison to safety before the jet went down. He ended up speeding out of the area when the mortar fire started. He could recognize that some matter of battle was going on below and, for once in his life, wanted no part of it.  
  
On an isolated landmass, there appeared to be prehistoric throwbacks roaming the tropical setting. Vegeta was attracted by the lingering ki of an Oozaru transformation, stale after five years. He recognized the scent and feel of the owner's power signature as belonging to Kakarott's brat; Gohan. This was the island where Piccolo had trained the boy before he and Nappa had actually arrived. The Namek had done a hell of a job, Vegeta admitted reluctantly, his thoughts going back to Gohan's massive power release when he had eradicated Cell.  
  
Deciding to stick around for a few days, the Saiyan camped on the island and effortlessly established himself as the top predator. On the very first night, a Tyrannosaurus Rex came over to investigate and became the evening meal instead. When properly cooked, the tough meat tasted similar to pork and the Saiyan gorged so much that he couldn't have flown even if he had wanted to. He used the huge carcass both as a windbreak and something to lean against and spent the evenings staring forlornly up at the stars. Humans had so many names for what they saw in that endless velvet blanket of winking lights. They actually made patterns out of the random constellations to suit strange imaginative tales. Vegeta had no patience for such nonsense; stars were potential destinations and past conquests to him, nothing more. The only thing he could understand was the simple awe that accompanied stargazing and the humbling aspect that seemed to go along with it. It was at times like these, alone in the darkness with only the stars shining down in a non-accusing way, that Vegeta felt as a human might; powerless, alone, insignificant.  
  
When the rotting corpse of the T-Rex penetrated even his level of tolerance, Vegeta packed up and headed back to a more hospitable continent. He didn't want to admit he was actively seeking out human companionship but after two weeks of this inconsistent bullshit, he was looking for more familiar territory. The minute he caught sight of those familiar golden arches, his mouth exploded with saliva and he wasted no time entering the building. He had chosen the height of supper hour and there were only two lanes open. Muttering under his breath, he settled reluctantly into line and waited.  
  
At the front of his line, an old man was squinting at the menu above the counter. "I'd… like a Whopper-"  
  
"We don't serve them here, sir," the teenager at the register informed him. "D'you mean a Big Mac?"  
  
"What's the cholesterol in those? My doctor says I have to keep an eye on that."  
  
Shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot, Vegeta grappled with his temper. He concentrated his gaze down at the floor where a discarded pickle slice was stuck to the tile. Not far off was a table full of kids celebrating a birthday party and they were shrieking with laughter. Several were chasing each other around the restaurant. Without warning, a muscle started dancing at the corner of the Saiyan's jaw.  
  
The trainee handed the bewildered fellow a pamphlet, and waited patiently while the man held the paper about an inch from his nose, reading the nutritional information. "I…uh, think I'll change my order to a McWrap."  
  
"That was just a limited time offer, sir. We don't have them anymore."  
  
"Oh. Well, how about just a plain hamburger? No onions, though, they give me the winds something awful! "  
  
"…That's fine, sir. Would you like some fries-"  
  
"Wait! What are those Filet-O-Fishies like-"  
  
"!!FOR THE LENGTH OF KOOLERS COCK!!" Vegeta thundered from where he was standing, "Make up your damn mind, you senile old geezer!"  
  
Several teenagers started whistling and clapping. "Way to go, little dude!" said the one from behind. He was just about to give Vegeta a slap on the back when the man turned and glared at him. One look in those crazed depths spared the youth from having a hook for a hand as he wisely backed off.  
  
The entire restaurant had fallen into stunned silence at the alien's outburst. When the manager came sprinting from his office, Vegeta back- pedaled and quickly exited the building before the fireworks started. The last thing he needed was another reason for the Z Fighters to hate his guts. Incinerating an establishment that served food wrapped in paper may be considered more than just a critique on poor service.  
  
Additionally, he had to remember that the Cell games had been broadcast and he had been the first combatant to arrive. Anyone watching their television had gotten a good look at him, so it would be an unwise move to advertise his potential.  
  
He had to… blend in. It was enough to make him gag.  
  
So he stuck religiously to the sidewalks with his head down and his hands in the pockets of his pants. He had to avoid the mad urge to power up every time he came face to face with someone in his way. Instead, he mumbled something resembling, " 'scu'me," and stayed to the path. Keeping a veiled eye on the storefronts, he decided that there wasn't enough 'fast-food' (what a damn joke THAT was!) in the world to sustain his powerful hunger. After experiencing Bulma's mothers expert cooking, he was now looking for something more exotic.  
  
When he found the first restaurant that didn't flaunt a plastic sign or grinning mascot, he walked inside. A plumb little waitress led him to a quiet out of the way corner table and left him with a menu. Any irritation that Vegeta might have had about the impersonal treatment flew out the window the minute he got a good look at the menu listings. He couldn't stop swallowing back the saliva that flowed into his mouth as he stared at all of the choices in wide-eyed wonder.  
  
He was still gaping when the waitress returned to his table and pulled out her pad. "Well, sir, have you decided what you would like?"  
  
Closing the menu with a snap, he handed it back to her and said, "Everything."  
  
The woman's polite smile faltered. "…Pardon me?"  
  
"Bring me one of everything and hurry it up. I'm starving!"  
  
The waitress opened her mouth and then closed it again, turning away without another word.  
  
Practically vibrating in anticipation, Vegeta was starting to eye the floral table arrangement when the woman returned. This time a man in a business suit was with her. The Saiyan felt himself tensen up as the two looked at one another. "What is it?" he asked warily.  
  
"Nothing to be alarmed about, sir," the Maitre de responded easily, making gestures with a deliberate flourish. "However, your order is going to be quite expensive. I merely wish to ensure that you've adequate funds to cover the bill."  
  
Vegeta slapped his hands down on the table and half rose. "How DARE you! Do you have any idea who-" He sat back down quickly and pulled out his wallet instead. This was NOT the place to start raving about his royal birthright. He was coming to the despairing conclusion that the "Prince of all Saiyans" speech wasn't worth a damn cent on this miserable world. "I haven't got much money-"  
  
The Maitre de's face dropped all pretense of civility. "Then I'm afraid I'm going to ask that you-"  
  
"-But I have this," Vegeta finished. He pulled out a small rectangular plastic card from one of the slots. Dr. Briefs had given it to him only a week before he had decided to leave Capsule Corporation. At the mere sight, the Headwaiter's eyes almost bulged in delight.  
  
It was a Platinum Charge Card with an unlimited credit limit.  
  
"That will be more than sufficient, sir," the man said smoothly. "I'll see to it personally that you receive the absolute best service."  
  
"The sooner the better," Vegeta retorted sourly. To give import to his words, he pulled a flower from the centerpiece and bit the head off. Locking eyes with the stunned man, he began to dine on the rest of the arrangement.  
  
"Yes sir," the Maitre de said, straight-faced.  
  
The Saiyan didn't have long to wait before the first course arrived. In between the plates being served and cleared away, the Headwaiter kept showing up and offering him glasses of wine. The names; Bordeaux and Chandelle meant nothing to Vegeta, one fermented fruit smelled much the same as another, but the sour beverage quenched his thirst. It would be three hours and almost three thousand zeni later before he would be reasonably sated and ready to take his reluctant leave. He was half in the bag when he rose from his table, barely noticing the muttered undercurrent of restaurant staff and patrons who were singling him out. There was actually a rare smile on his face as he waited for the Maitre de to process his bill.  
  
"Thank you very much for dining at the Gilded Osprey," he said, handing the charge card back. "All of the staff of Capsule Corporation are always more than welcome to come here."  
  
Vegeta snapped his head around at the taller man. "Staff?" He looked down at the card in bewilderment.  
  
"Yes sir. You have an expense account. Very common among high placed employees. You must be a very important person."  
  
"Once, I was," the Saiyan said under his breath. "Now, I don't know what I am…"  
  
A smiling doorman held the door open for him as he exited. Outside, Vegeta stood on the curb looking at the credit card in his hand with a mixture of emotions, none of them good. Even in the act of getting a decent meal, he was indebted to the Briefs again. Was it ever going to end?  
  
"I'm never going to use this again," he promised himself.  
  
Drowsy from the wine and from the filling meal, he decided to sleep in a bed for a change instead of a sleeping bag. He began to look for accommodations that might be more within his limited budget. Wandering the streets, his roaming inevitably took him to the poorer section of the city than where he had originally eaten. It didn't matter the planet or even the breed of its citizens. Vegeta knew where he was the minute the first of the prostitutes came into view, even if he didn't know the name of the area. Places like this were as old as the universe.  
  
"Hey, baby! Thirty for a half-an-half, if you're looking."  
  
"-want to buy some tabs? A deuce a pop, it's killer shit!"  
  
"Don't listen to those skanks, sweetheart. Let a real woman give you a ride- "  
  
Ignoring them with difficulty, the Saiyan would have succumbed to their offers five years ago. Back then, he had been traveling with Radditz and Nappa. They had been a pair of rough bastards who would never turn down an invitation, real or imagined, not even in the middle of a mission. He had let a lot of their crude traits rub off onto him and even now, it was hard to shake their twisted influence. One frenzied screw up against the wall of an alley might just be the thing to ease his tension. It had been almost three years since he had last lain with a woman-  
  
Yeah, he reminded himself. Look how THAT turned out!  
  
He walked on.  
  
About a block further down, he found a hotel that didn't have addicts sitting on the front steps and went inside. The foyer was a dismal grey in desperate need of paint and smelled of mildew and stale cigarettes. Some old drunk was snoring away on the battered sofa against the wall, clutching a near empty bottle of vodka in one arthritic claw. The admissions counter was beside the stairs and a skinny, balding young man in his late twenties was peering at him behind the mesh cage erected around it. "Hey," he grunted as a greeting.  
  
Vegeta stepped up to the desk and wasn't amused that he had to raise himself up on his tiptoes to see over its pitted and scarred surface. "I want a room."  
  
"Sure. For an hour or for the night?"  
  
"What the hell is the point of renting a room for an- " Vegeta remembered the corner whores and corrected himself. "For the night."  
  
"That'll be twenty-five zeni. Sign here." He slid the admissions book over and Vegeta signed the exotic symbol that was the alien equivalent of his name. The man never even blinked when he glanced at it. "Room 206. Second floor, end of the hall," he said and gave him a key.  
  
This is certainly NOT the Hammorski Plaza, Vegeta thought to himself as he ascended the stairs and walked down the corridor to his room. The lighting was a grimy yellow and the walls were paper-thin. He could hear everything that was going on in the other rooms and he didn't even have to strain his ears, not that he wanted to in this dump. When he reached his door, he could hear a screaming fight going on in the room beside his, between a man and woman. It was amusing for all of five seconds before Vegeta went over to their door and brought a fist down on its surface.  
  
"Shut the hell up in there! I don't need to hear your shit!" he bellowed and everything went silent.  
  
Satisfied, the Saiyan unlocked his door and reached inside for the light switch. The minute the lone bulb in the ceiling came on, startled roaches scurried for cover. His heart sank at what he had been reduced to but he entered and closed the door after himself anyway, looking around in disgust. A sagging single bed with a faded blanket over it, a television chained to a bureau that had the drawers missing and a single chair. There wasn't even a bathroom, only a sink in the corner with a dripping faucet.  
  
"This place makes the damn pod look hospitable," he grumbled.  
  
When he turned down the blanket and sheets in preparation for sleep, he saw the semen stains of the previous tenant drying in the middle of the bed. He quickly covered the bed back up and uncapsulated his meager belongings. It looked like he was going to be using the damn sleeping bag after all.  
  
As he washed up as best he could in the sink, his neighbors resumed their feuding with even greater ferocity. When he yelled at them to keep it down, they ignored him. Ordinarily, that would have been a fatal mistake but Vegeta was too tired and discouraged to bother with killing irritating humans tonight. He turned on the TV and was mildly surprised to see hard core porn being broadcast. Needless to say, he kept it on that channel.  
  
Spreading the sleeping bag over the surface of the bed, Vegeta sat up against the headboard and watched the heaving flesh on the screen with vacant interest. A part of him wished that he were back at the Headquarters building but even there things had changed. The old man tried to suck up to him for his past hassles and his blond mate actually made up stupid reasons to pester him. The infant brat had babbled all day and howled non-stop all night and Bulma-  
  
…Bulma… The mere thought of the sea-foamed haired beauty was enough to make him tremble. Not from lust or attraction.  
  
It was rage. Pure and simple. He had confided in her, trusted her as he had no other. In the end, she had tricked him into giving her the one thing he had sworn he would never be responsible for; The creation of a life! A hybrid abomination that mocked his royal lineage with its impurity. As ever, Vegeta found himself comparing his life with the ghost of his long- deceased father. What would the King, and undisputed ruler of Vegetasei, have done if faced with a similar situation?  
  
Killed the bitch, of course, his father whispered in his mind with all of his usual arrogance. He would never have been weak enough to lie with an alien, much less impregnate her.  
  
"He had Saiyan women to choose from," Vegeta forced himself to reason out loud. "The damn comparison doesn't apply here!" The ancient customs and forced dictations of Saiyan Law had been expunged from his conscience the instant Frieza had destroyed his world and people. In truth, here on Earth he had been the lone alien at the mercy of the world whose population thrived. Bulma had been the one to lower her standards and be with him, not the other way around.  
  
"No," Vegeta grumbled. She had purposely lied to him with all of that talk of 'the pill' and 'safe sex'. He would have gladly choked down a case of condoms to prevent what she had obviously set out to do from the start. All of her proclamations of love and trust in an affluent hotel suite and he had been gullible enough to believe it. How could he have fallen for the ruse? Had he truly been so weak and vulnerable to allow himself to trust her against all of his instincts?  
  
Had he, at one time, actually started to care for her?  
  
There was the sound of someone colliding into the wall behind him. The screaming rose in volume and Vegeta's patience, poor to begin with, dropped another notch. He brought his fist against the wall so hard that a section of plaster fell from the ceiling onto his head.  
  
Brushing the chalky dust out of his spiky hair with a curse, his thoughts unerringly went back to his earlier musing. He was out of his depth where relationships were concerned. Concepts of affection, sharing and devotion were as alien to him as genocide and destruction would be to Bulma. There was more than just a difference of upbringings or cultures to blame here. They were, quite literally, worlds apart in their varied opinions of proper conduct. He realized that he was expecting her to act how his own limited experiences with his own breed demanded; that she be subservient. Bulma was apparently thinking that he should behave like some simpering human and be loyal to her, no matter her conduct. There was going to be no easy way for this situation to be resolved and he had done quite possibly the worst thing possible.  
  
He had run away.  
  
"What am I going to do?" he whispered hopelessly, looking around the decrepit room. All of those years of abuse and slavery under Frieza, the ambition of becoming the revered Super Saiyan and finally achieving his birth-right… Was this really his reward? Did he deserve this filth and degradation? He was distressed by the unshed tears that rose in his throat like bile and he choked them down with effort.  
  
The squabbling neighbors were almost a welcome diversion from his grief. When they started yelling again, Vegeta joined in. He got to his knees on the bed and began hammering on the wall, "!!SHUT THE FUCK UP!!I SWEAR I'M GONNA KILL YOU BOTH!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.  
  
The voices dropped in the next room. Vegeta swore he could hear their breathing but at least they were finally keeping their mouths shut. Still brilliantly pissed, he put his ear to the wall, actually hoping that one of them would give him a reason to finally go ballistic. He heard some footfalls cross the room and something settle against the wall opposite his head. Before he could react, there was an enormous, ear-shattering explosion that punched a hole in the wall and threw Vegeta to the floor.  
  
"Not if I kill you first," snickered a young punk as he began reloading his sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun. Behind him, his girlfriend was shrieking with laughter on their bed. The pair had been responsible for a series of armed robberies in the area over the last month. They had decided to lie low in the hotel room after killing a shopkeeper two nights ago.  
  
Crouching on the floor, Vegeta raised a shaky hand to his left ear, not surprised that the report of the gun had ruptured his eardrum. How he felt when he raised his hand to his head was another matter. The shot had clipped off his hair and given him the lop-sided equivalent of a brushcut. A wounded sound escaped his mouth when he picked up one of the severed spikes lying on the bed. It didn't matter that if the shotgun had been two inches lower, he wouldn't have been able to mourn the remains of his once- proud Saiyan mane. All that mattered in that instant was how Vegeta was reminded of his horrific loss just from this one world; his cohorts, his tail, his dignity, his pride, his spunk, and now his HAIR?! It was the last fucking straw!  
  
The punk was pushing the gun through the hole he had made and was aiming it at him when Vegeta raised his left hand, palm up, in the punk's direction. The thunder of the blast and the Big Bang attack were simultaneous, with entirely different results. The Saiyan avoided the second discharge easily. All that was left of the punk was where his legs had been severed by the alien blast and were still standing in front of the immense hole Vegeta had created. He had clipped the little bastard off at the knees and the stumps were smoldering like a pair of strange candles. The rest had been propelled through the huge exit he had created on the opposite side of the pair's room. He got to his feet, smirking with amusement despite the ringing in his left ear. He had forgotten all about the woman until she propelled herself through the devastated wall.  
  
"You killed Toby! You prick!" she shrieked, coming at him with a hunting knife that would have made Rambo blanch in fear. She was high on speed and brandishing the weapon in erratic strikes, yelling death threats over and over. Vegeta landed an uppercut to her jaw that threw her back into her own room. She fell backwards on the bed, flipped over and landed on the other side.  
  
The only reason that Vegeta entered their room at all was because of all of the money that was spread out on the bed and over the floor. He needed the cash more than this little dipshit and he didn't have much time. People outside of their rooms were calling for help and someone had pulled the fire alarm. He was just stuffing his pockets when the woman jumped to her feet from the opposite side of the bed and threw a bag of powder directly into his face.  
  
"What the f- " he inhaled a lungful of the fine powder and broke off coughing. His bending over was the only thing that spared his throat as her hand, armed with the knife, sailed right over his head. He barely registered her presence and managed to kick out in time to prevent another attack. There was a grunt of expelled air and he knew he had gotten her in the ribs. Someone was banging away on the door and it signaled that it was time to leave. Wiping the stinging dust from his watering eyes, Vegeta sprinted for the hole he had made with his earlier blast and took to the air before anyone else caught sight of him. The woman was still screaming long after he had made his retreat.  
  
  
  
Outside of the city limits, his surroundings blurred and his perceptions warped so badly that he was no longer sure if he was flying up or down. The ringing in his ear had transformed to a piercing wail and he was only dimly aware that he was screaming, unable to stop. He tried to outrun whatever drug the woman had thrown at him and bolted straight up until the air began to get dangerously thin. Around him, the clouds coalesced into barely recognizable shapes, becoming faces he had hoped to never see again.  
  
"Oi! If it isn't our favorite little monkey," Zarbon said with his usual smugness. "Having a rough spot of trouble, are you, eh?"  
  
"Shut up," Vegeta hissed before he broke off sneezing.  
  
"Awww, poor chibi no Ouji," Dodoria purred. "I think that you've finally met your match. Oh well, like father like son. Losers. Both of you."  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
Another voice entered his mind, this one the worst yet. His arms broke out in gooseflesh at the rasping cackle that enveloped him like thunder.  
  
"My dear Vegeta, don't be scared," Frieza said, looming over him. His head was the size of a skyscraper and growing larger by the second, the cumulus clouds swollen with unshed lightening. "Come a little closer so that I can hold you. It's been so long a time since I've… enjoyed you. It won't hurt. Much."  
  
Recoiling in terror from the apparition, Vegeta turned away from the hallucinations and the taunting laughter that echoed in his mind. He couldn't seem to escape them. He flew as hard and as fast as he could, plowing through mountaintops and creating trenches in lakes in his panicked urgency to get away. Eventually, the drug took even that small measure of comfort from him and he fell to the ground in an exhausted heap. He couldn't focus on his surroundings and his head felt swollen with colors and sounds. Getting to his feet was virtually an impossibility and he ended up huddling into a contorted, miserable ball to try and escape the voices.  
  
"Lookit him, mates!" Jeice cried. "Curled up like a little baby! Ain't he cute?"  
  
Burter rumbled disapprovingly. "Typical Saiyan when he doesn't get his way. They're all wimps."  
  
"Hrmp! Never met a Saiyan monkey worth a damn," Captain Ginyu sneered. "And this is supposed to be their Prince? No wonder they're extinct!"  
  
"Shutupshutupshupshutup," Vegeta chanted over and over through clenched teeth.  
  
"Poor Vegeta," breathed Frieza's voice by his right ear. "Don't listen to them. They're not real."  
  
Raising his head, Vegeta tried to focus past the swirling lights and warped landscapes. There was someone looming over him but all that he had to see was the glimpse of that familiar naked, pink flesh. Frothing in rage he lashed out at the figure, fully expecting to collide with a solid presence.  
  
He wasn't disappointed. He managed to land one kick before a powerful blow knocked him away. Writhing in the dirt, he glared back at the advancing figure with rage and terror. Just before he lost consciousness, he heard the most haunting words of all:  
  
"No, they're not real. But I am."  
  
  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Chapter Three: After visiting old friends, Bulma travels to the Son Household and is met with a startling revelation about Chi Chi's health. 


	3. Old Friends, New Problems

Two Sides To A Story  
  
Chapter Three  
  
  
  
Bulma waited for about three days for the world to come to an end. When that didn't happen she reasoned that perhaps Vegeta was a little more stable than what he had shown when he left Capsule Corporation on that terrible day. Imagining him actually travelling around Earth as a sightseer was hard for her to accept but she couldn't deny the reality that everything was still intact. Even when a week went by, there was not a whisper on the news or a vague article in the paper and she was keeping a very close vigil. It appeared that the Saiyan had gone to ground and pulled one of his infamous disappearing acts.  
  
She tried to get Vegeta out of her head but found the act nearly impossible. A great part of it was the indignant rage created by his callous exit. "I wish that you and that bastard half-breed had died during the birth then have the pair of you mock me with your existence!" God, how could he- How could anyone say such a horrible thing?! And he had meant it, too. She should have been relieved to be free of him once and for all.  
  
Fine. So why wasn't she?  
  
The answer became clear each time she so much as looked into Trunks' open, endearing face. The babe was the perfect amalgam of both parents responsible for his unique conception. He had her eye color but Vegeta's slanted shape, giving him a visage that was already piercing at his young age of only five months. The wisp of lavender hair, so much like her own when she had been young was combined with his father's olive skin. It was an exotic combination that was very attractive. Trunks was also displaying an unhealthy stubborn streak that was actually unsettling with its intensity. Both adults had more than their fair share and she had to admit that it was inevitable the baby would be plagued with their hardheadedness, though not so soon. She blamed that mulish behavior solely on the Saiyan (but only because it comforted her). How could she not think about Vegeta every single time she looked at their child? The Saiyan was corrupt, evil, without any redeeming qualities to speak of and yet… Here was this truly innocent soul they had shared equally in its wonderful creation. Bulma found it hard to believe that a truly evil man would ever have relented to her affections in the first place and it was those doubts that was plaguing her on a daily basis.  
  
Those thoughts didn't end at the office. Rather, they were intensified by all of the reminders of Vegeta's lasting presence the short time he had worked there. One section of the Research and Development lab, now headed by Charles McNeal, was devoted entirely to variations of the initial communications chip the Saiyan had provided. It was no longer just the Government sector who was providing the funding anymore. The television Networks, mourning the poor coverage of the Cell Games, were now looking for something that might be a little more stable if such an event ever occurred again.  
  
In other plants around the world, all of the land and air bound vehicles that Capsule Corporation was responsible for manufacturing had been all completely overhauled. Now they sported a revolutionary exhaust system that was entirely pollution-free. It was an unprecedented accomplishment with nothing that even came close to rivaling its efficiency. The environmentally conscious populace of Earth was practically standing in line outside of the dealerships waiting for the first of the vehicles to arrive. That discovery had boosted the Corporations standings as the top vehicle maker and allowed them to completely corner the market. All thanks to a lone Saiyan who had a talent for translating complex alien technology into understandable blueprints. Vegeta was completely oblivious of the effects of his two contributions to Capsule Corp. He had earned billions for the company and hadn't even received a simple thank-you for his efforts. How could Bulma go to work each day and NOT be reminded of him?  
  
  
  
By the second week, there was still no sign of Vegeta in any of her covert inquiries. This was so unlike the brash Saiyan that Bulma had to talk herself out of leaving work and going to look for him. She had absolutely no idea where he would have gone and it wasn't the first time that she was bothered by her own ignorance. There was very little she actually knew about him that didn't circulate around the dinner table or the bedroom. Did he like beaches or mountains? Would he be camping or staying in a hotel? Her father had given him a charge card so that she could track his whereabouts. Why wasn't he using the damn thing?!  
  
"Get a grip on yourself," she muttered, placing her burning face into her hands. Sitting at her desk, she was deliberately avoiding the mountain of paperwork piling up around her. A half-empty coffee cup was holding open a textbook she had been reading for most of the morning. She was trying to get an insight into Vegeta's character and was not assured by what she had discovered so far.  
  
There was a tentative knock at her door. Her secretary poked her head inside and said, "An envelope just arrived for you. It's marked urgent."  
  
That didn't surprise Bulma. Everything was urgent these days. "Who's it from?" she asked with a definite note of disinterest in her voice.  
  
"It doesn't say. A secret admirer, maybe?"  
  
"Dare to dream," Bulma muttered and held out her hand. Her office was off-limits to the cleaning staff and the secretary had to pick her way carefully around the partially disassembled machinery and tools to reach the desk.  
  
The address on the manila envelope was clearly typed and addressed to her. With a sigh, Bulma ripped open the seal and pulled out the lone document contained inside of it. At the mere sight, she released a strangled squawk of surprise.  
  
"Ms. Briefs?" the secretary asked in concern. She wavered in her retreat and stood stork-like amid the clutter.  
  
Finding her voice took some effort but Bulma finally managed to get out; "It's… alright, Staci."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
Bulma could only nod. Satisfied, the other women successfully picked her way out of the office and closed the door. Only once her shadow had settled back behind her own desk did Bulma pull the item free of its envelope. She had to steady it with both hands they were shaking so badly.  
  
It was a video capture still-photo of Vegeta, enlarged to an 8 X 10. She wouldn't have been so upset if the picture had been of the Saiyan when he had arrived to take part in the Cell games. Everyone had got a good look at him that day and others would have made the connection that he had stayed at Capsule Corporation, for a time. The picture in her hands was much older and slightly blurred. It was a rare image of Vegeta when he had first arrived to conquer the earth. He was standing with his arms folded, staring upwards with that arrogant smirk on his face. It must have been taken just before Nappa had attacked the helicopters that had unwittingly moved into the battle area.  
  
Written on its glossy surface were nine simple words:  
  
I know who the father of your child is.  
  
  
  
Four hours later Bulma was in her yellow hover-jet streaking a path towards the southeast at roughly Mach 1. Her hands were clenched around the controls and her eyes never wavered from the front window except to periodically glance sidelong at the passenger seat. Strapped into his baby- seat, Trunks was dozing lightly beside her, blissfully unaware of the cause of his mother's distress. He still wasn't sleeping through the night and spent much of the day doing precisely what he was doing now.  
  
When she reached her destination, she shoved the now-battered envelope into her coat pocket and picked up her son. Ignoring the stunned exclamations around her, she marched right past one flustered security guard and threw open the door, screaming: "Where are you?!"  
  
All around her, naked men froze in place before hastily picking up a discarded item of clothing or piece of equipment to cover their nudity. Bulma had charged into the locker room of the Taitans baseball team right after they had finished a game and the majority of them had just come out of the shower.  
  
Advancing on one young rookie who was trying to hide in his locker, Bulma turned on him and snapped, "I'm looking for Yamcha. Where is he?"  
  
The younger man had both hands cupped around his groin and could only incline his head towards the showers. Undaunted, Bulma charged in that direction while Trunks ogled his surroundings with great interest as if to say; Sorry for the interruption, fellas, but you gotta admit... It's a helluvan entrance!  
  
Bulma went out of sight and for a moment, everything was silent before the rest of the team started bellowing and came sprinting out of the area, most still sopping wet and covered in suds.  
  
"Hey! You can't come barging in here!" bawled out Yamcha's voice.  
  
"I can and I will!" Bulma yelled back, "And what the hell are you covering that thing up for? It's not like I've never seen it!"  
  
"Damn," the shortstop muttered to the rest of his peers. "For one minute there I thought it was my ex-wife." All around him were the collective sighs of relief as the rest of the team got hastily dressed while the arguing continued in the near-vacant shower room.  
  
  
  
It was a much calmer, clothed and less-flustered Yamcha who looked briefly at the photo and then slapped it back down on the table. "I didn't send it. How could you blame me for something like this, Bulma?"  
  
Bulma realized he was telling the truth the moment she looked into his gentle brown eyes. Her ex-lover was many things but an extortionist was not one of them. Fighting back tears, she whispered, "I-I'm sorry, Yamcha. When I opened the envelope, the only person who came to mind was you."  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"I know that you resented my being with Vegeta. I mean, who else knows about this but those in our little circle? Who else would have had a motive?"  
  
She has a point, Yamcha admitted to himself. Sitting across from him, Trunks was settled into a booster seat and eagerly accepting the spoonfuls of custard that Bulma was offering him. The instant the ex-fighter looked at him, he swiveled his own eyes around and glared right back. There was so much of Vegeta staring out of that little face that Yamcha had to actively submerge a grumble of distaste. That should be his son sitting there, not the product of a one-night stand from some undeserving, murderous alien tyrant. "I've made my peace with the situation," he said unconvincingly.  
  
"So who else could have sent that awful thing?" Bulma wanted to know.  
  
"Obviously someone trying to rattle your cage," he reasoned. "Let's face facts, Capsule Corp is at the top of its game. There are a lot of resentful people out there and most of them aren't very nice. You haven't exactly been candid about Trunk's origin."  
  
"What could I possibly say?" she said, dropping her eyes. Even now, there was hardly a week that went by when some tabloid or talk show wasn't harassing her for an interview about who was the father of the new Capsule Corporation heir. "If it ever came out that one of the original Saiyans who came to destroy the earth was Trunks' father, I might as well just kiss Capsule Corp away."  
  
Yamcha snorted as he leaned back in his chair. "Guess you and Vegeta should have thought of that before the rubber broke-"  
  
"You idiot!" Bulma threw down the dish and slammed her hands down on the tabletop. Looming over the nervous athlete she hissed at him, "You know damn well I was on the pill. None of this is Vegeta's fault. If you want to blame anyone, then blame me!"  
  
Visibly faltering, Yamcha's mouth worked for a moment before he was able to get out, "What are you saying, Bulma? That you got pregnant on purpose? For Dende's sake, why the hell-"  
  
"I should never have come here," Bulma interrupted. She was beginning to pack her things when Yamcha reached over and gently took hold of her wrist.  
  
"Don't go. Please," he said sincerely. "I'm glad you came, despite the circumstances. It's always good to see you, Bulma. Please stay here and talk for awhile."  
  
Bulma hesitated. "Just so long as it's not about Vegeta. He's off- limits."  
  
"Fine, fine," Yamcha relented. It was clear that there was something about the confusing topic that was yet unresolved but now was not the time or place to bring it up. He could do the only thing that he had been to her for the last fifteen years; be a friend and confidant and lend as much support as he possibly could. In a desperate attempt to change the subject he moved his seat closer to Trunks. The boy's face tightened in agitation at the close proximity but he didn't make a fuss. "Let's talk about this little fellow instead, shall we?"  
  
"I should go get another bowl of custard. He's probably still hungry," Bulma said, starting to relax.  
  
Yamcha wiggled his finger beneath the boy's nose. "How about that, Twunksie? Are you hungwy? Huh? Want some more custy-wusty?"  
  
Bulma didn't like the way Trunk's eyes had narrowed and were tracking the side-to-side movement of the finger in front of his face. She was just about to call out a caution when the baby lunged forward and bit down on the tempting appendage as hard as he possibly could.  
  
  
  
When Bulma's giggles had tapered off to a few muted snickers, she would glance at the boy in the passenger's seat and start all over again. At one point she had to set the hover-jet on autopilot as she wiped her tearing eyes, occasionally doubling over with some much-needed laughter. Things had been too tense lately and the diversion outside of the concession stand had turned into a welcome respite, even if it had come at Yamcha's expense.  
  
"You just showed him why I had to stop breast-feeding you," Bulma said to the boy, grinning broadly. Trunks had latched onto Yamcha's finger with the speed and ferocity of a bear-trap and hadn't let go until she returned with another bowl of custard. The entire stadium had echoed Yamcha's indignant screams of pain. "You sprained a finger on his pitching hand, you know."  
  
Half-asleep, the hybrid youth glanced at her with a bored expression; Yeah, yeah… Whatever, that look said and despite herself, Bulma broke off into fresh laughter. Deciding to take Yamcha's wait-and-see advice about the incriminating picture, she figured that she would make a day of it and visit the rest of her friends. She was only a short distance from Master Roshi's island. As much as she resented the old pervert's antics, the light- hearted atmosphere would be a welcome relief and she could touch base with Krillin and perhaps find out how Chi Chi and Gohan were coping with their loss.  
  
Just before the lone island came into sight, the sensors on the hover- jet came to life and called out a warning of a possible collision. The radar was showing something small and fast advancing on her position. Before she could react, a white streak passed by her port side creating turbulence in its abrupt wake. She had to struggle with the joystick to get the jet under control. For an instant she had thought that it might be Vegeta, considering the figure's incredible speed but something hadn't been quite right.  
  
Managing a soft landing on the sand, Master Roshi, Krillin, Oolong and the turtle were waiting outside of the house. When Bulma had unbuckled Trunks out of his seat, she stepped towards the group and inquired, "Was that Android 18 who nearly collided with me?"  
  
Krillin's tanned features transformed into a brilliant scarlet. Beside him Oolong snickered and nudged him with one pudgy elbow. "Tell 'er about your new girlfriend, Krillin," he taunted.  
  
"What?!" Bulma screeched.  
  
When Krillin still couldn't find his voice, Master Roshi took the initiative and stepped forward. "Come inside, Bulma. Have we got a story for you." Like a woman in a dream, Bulma went into the house and barely reacted in time to prevent the old man from goosing her behind.  
  
As it turned out, Number 18 had started visiting shortly after Krillin made the wish with the Dragonballs that had effectively freed her. She reunited briefly with her brother, Android 17, but it wasn't long before each decided to strike out on their own. True to his conditioning, 17 wanted little to do with humans but was utterly consumed with racing cars. The last 18 heard of him, he had stolen a Porsche 911 Turbo from an exhibition and was joyriding around the countryside.  
  
More mature and thoughtful than her twin, 18 decided that she had endured enough excitement in her relatively young life. She made the decision to track down Krillin, the only human who hadn't feared her and actually saved what amounted to as her life. Her first visit to the island had been a disaster. Krillin's ex-girlfriend, Marron, had decided to pick that day to visit and the pair had exchanged thinly veiled barbs about the others' appearance for most of the afternoon. Normally levelheaded, 18 had finally lost her cool when the blue-haired beauty had suggested that the blond must be artificially enhanced because even her breasts looked fake. Using only a fraction of her super-strength, she had thrown the woman inside of her hover-car and thrown it so hard that it had skipped across the ocean like a flat-sided rock for several kilometers.  
  
She had left immediately after that scene and Krillin had figured that was the end of any possible friendship, or something potentially more intimate. To his surprise and delight, 18 had returned as if nothing had happened, two days later. It wasn't uncommon for the pair to simply sit at the edge of the beach and talk for hours. Lately though, they had taken to holding hands while they did so.  
  
Bulma sat at the kitchen table with a wistful smile on her face as she listened to the tale of blossoming love. It was nice to hear that at least someone had found a happy ending after the Cell games. Krillin, as benevolent and gentle as anyone could be, deserved some happiness in his own life. 18 appeared to have completely reformed her evil ways and was smart enough to recognize her savior by rewarding him for his efforts with her trust.  
  
The blatant comparisons between Krillin's luck and her own misfortune brought a sheen of tears to Bulma's eyes. She blinked them back before anyone would notice.  
  
"18 sensed that you were coming. She's still kinda shy about being around other people," Krillin explained with a one-sided shrug.  
  
"Kissed him on the cheek before she left, though," Oolong whispered to Bulma and everyone watched, amused, as the little monk flushed with embarrassment from the statement.  
  
"I think it's wonderful," Bulma said sincerely. "Don't let anyone get you off-track of what you feel is right, Krillin. You're the only person that matters. You and 18 both. The opinions of other people don't matter."  
  
Krillin swallowed as he detected a double meaning to the woman's encouragement. He doubted that Bulma had ever received any kind of support for her liaison with Vegeta (some nights Krillin actually lied awake wondering how the hell THAT had ever happened). When he thought back to the first time that the Z Fighters had discovered that the Saiyan had fathered Trunks… well, he wished he could get that moment back. Any other woman would have turned her back on them for their criticism but Bulma had remained their friend. She had told no one of her pregnancy, so naturally it had come as a shock, but none of them had ever painted Vegeta in a positive light when they were around her. That had to stop. Krillin recognized his own indignation and defensiveness whenever someone brought up 18's past actions. He couldn't imagine what went through Bulma's head every time someone blasted Vegeta in her presence.  
  
Sure, Krillin was still scared shitless of the compact Saiyan and he probably always would be. After all, he had faced him on the battlefield and had been about the only one left standing when the fireworks had finally been over. He had seen Vegeta take on both a Kamehameha and a Spirit Bomb at point-blank range and still come back itching for more. He was, without a doubt, the toughest son of a bitch Krillin had ever seen. Even worse, he was now a Super Saiyan whose only true adversary was dead. What the hell was stopping him from taking over where Frieza had left off?  
  
Perhaps… perhaps the reason is sitting across from me, he thought, staring at Bulma who was watching Trunks as he played with the turtle. The babe was supporting himself on the broad shell and actually appeared impatient that the amphibian was moving so slow. Looking at the undisguised love on the woman's face was enough to fill Krillin with a momentary sense of doubt. He had spared Vegeta's life after their first encounter and, in his own arrogant manner, the Saiyan had later repaid the favor. Most recently, he had provided the surprising diversion that had enabled Gohan to get the upper hand over Cell, winning the battle and saving the Earth. Was that the action of a warrior without honor? How much more of Vegeta had Bulma seen that the rest of them purposely ignored?  
  
Was it possible that they had all been wrong to misjudge him?  
  
There were so many questions that Krillin wanted to ask but for some reason, he remained silent. Part of it, he knew, was that it wasn't any of his business. For better or for worse, all that mattered at the moment was the little lavender-haired baby scampering around on the floor. Trunks was squealing in delight as the turtle affectionately nuzzled his stomach and everyone was laughing. Even if this child was the only proof to ever exist, it meant that Vegeta had some good in him after all to be able to help create such an innocent life. That was enough for Krillin, past battles be damned.  
  
"I wanted to ask you, Krillin. Have you seen Chi Chi or Gohan lately?" Bulma asked when it appeared that the boy was finally winding down with his endearing antics.  
  
"I stopped by their house about a week ago but nobody answered the door," he said. "I don't think Chi Chi is taking it very well. Are you going to go visit her next?"  
  
"I think that might be a good idea."  
  
Everyone around the table betrayed a mute nod of approval but nobody offered to go with her. Chi Chi was high-strung at the best of times and usually best when left alone and unprovoked. All of the Z Fighters were more than a little scared of her, including Gokou when he had been alive. Not only was she was a martial arts expert but she could also be a complete bitch. When it came to men in general, the Fighters in particular, she had developed a particular resentment over their antics that bordered on the maniacal. There was no telling what state Bulma might find her in, but a visit was long overdue.  
  
When she got Trunks settled into the passenger seat of the jet, Krillin approached her before she initiated take-off. "Hey, uh… Tell Vegeta I said 'hi', huh?"  
  
Bulma blinked in surprise before allowing a sad smile. "If I ever see him again, I'll pass that along, Krillin," she said sincerely and closed the door on his shocked face.  
  
  
  
Avoiding the trappings of civilization, the Son household had made their home in the wilds of Mount Pazou, where Gokou had grown up. It was over a hundred kilometers from the Western Capital and isolated from any nearby town or village. The main building was a simple one-story Capsule house with a small hobby farm in the backyard that had a few chickens and pigs.  
  
Landing in the front yard, the first thing that Bulma noticed was that the family car was gone. Another was that no one had come out to greet her. In the old days, the entire family had rushed out in excitement when receiving a visitor but the premises now appeared to be deserted. "Hello?" she called out tentatively. Trunks was asleep in his seat and she decided not to wake him so she walked around the house, looking into windows. "Hello? Chi Chi? Gohan? Is anyone home?"  
  
An odd, sighing sound reached her ears. When she came to the back patio, she saw the woman sitting in a lawn chair staring forlornly at the mountain peak. "Chi Chi?"  
  
The brunette turned slowly and stared at her blankly for a moment before attempting a smile. It was all wrong on her pale, drawn face and became a pained grimace instead. "…Bulma," she said, like an old woman coming out of a dream. "How wonderful it is to see you."  
  
"Same here, 'Chi," she responded, trying to keep her voice light. "I've been meaning to visit for awhile now but you know how work- Well, the timing, you know how it can be-"  
  
"Yes. I know."  
  
"And, well, I didn't see the car in the yard-"  
  
"The bank took it back."  
  
Swallowing, Bulma could only mutter, "Oh… 'Chi, that's awful! I didn't have any idea that-"  
  
Waving away her awkward apology, the other woman rose out of her seat. "Come inside, I'll make us some tea."  
  
"Just a minute and I'll go get Trunks. I wasn't sure if you were home so I didn't want to-"  
  
"You brought the baby? Can I see him?" Chi Chi asked suddenly. For some reason, her eyes had grown very wide and were glittering with unshed tears.  
  
Utterly bewildered now, Bulma could only say, "Sure," and led her over to the hover-jet. By now, the babe had woken up and just realized he was alone. It didn't help when Chi Chi threw open the passenger side door and exclaimed in that strident pitch of hers; "Oh! He's so adorable, Bulma!"  
  
Having endured enough excitement for one day, Trunks drew air into his tiny lungs and started to bawl. At the same moment, Chi Chi joined in the boy's lamentation and Bulma found herself torn between two wailing people who both seemed to need the attention that only she could give.  
  
When she had finally managed to get everyone calmed down, it was a much different scene in the kitchen than what anyone would have ever expected. Bulma was the one fussing over the stove while Chi Chi was nursing a hot cup of tea at the table. Opening a bag of biscuits, she joined her friend at the table as she tried to get Trunks settled down. He was cranky and out of sorts and it didn't help that his diaper needed to be changed. "Full of shit just like your father," Bulma muttered under her breath and began to rummage through her carrying bag. To Chi Chi, she asked, "Where's Gohan?"  
  
"He's fishing with his grandfather down by the lake," came the answer. Before Bulma could ask the logical follow-up, she added, "He's not dealing with this very well, either. He can't concentrate on his studies. He isn't sleeping like he used to. I've caught him twice trying to run away to that green monster he's so fond of."  
  
"Piccolo is a good friend to-"  
  
"He abducted my child the first time Gokou was killed!" Chi Chi shouted. "If it hadn't been for that-that creature, Gohan would never have gotten a taste of combat and would have remained the sweet little innocent I wanted him to be. Now he's been tainted. He's killed, Bulma! How can I ever get my little boy back now?"  
  
"He saved us-"  
  
"I know that!" Chi Chi snapped as she rose to her feet. "All of those big strong men out on the battle-field and they stood by and let a child fight the battle for them. How pathetic is that?" Her tears were very close and Bulma was anticipating the approaching explosion like a demolition expert in the middle of defusing a bomb. There was no avoiding that display once it erupted. "Even Gokou stood by and encouraged his son to fight. He actually allowed Cell to take a senzu bean. How stupid is that? Small wonder he had to sacrifice himself to save his son! Oh- !!GOKOU!!"  
  
Here it comes, Bulma thought grimly.  
  
Rather than start screaming, Chi Chi collapsed back into her seat and took her face into her hands. "Why did he do it?" she wailed through a mask of tears. "How could he do that to me? To us?"  
  
"He saved the Earth when he teleported Cell to-" Bulma attempted only to have her words waved away.  
  
Chi Chi was suddenly furious. "He had the choice to come back and he chose to stay dead! He left behind a widow and a fatherless son so that he could party in the afterlife! How am I supposed to feel about that?"  
  
Bulma had been expecting an outburst from her upset friend but had not expected the degree of rage behind the words. Looking at her with acute helplessness, she could only concentrate on getting Trunks' diaper changed as she struggled with a response. Gokou's choice to stay dead had caught everyone off guard, particularly with his odd reasoning that the Earth was somehow safer without him on it. With Shenlon's immense presence looming over everyone with it's palatable impatience, no one had even thought to bring up the warriors' duty to his family until the final wish had been made and the Dragon long gone.  
  
"Honestly? I think Gokou was wrong, Chi Chi," she responded simply. Like the others, Bulma knew in her heart what happened to the Son family had been a needless tragedy but no one wanted to admit it out loud. Gokou was a best friend to each and every one of them but wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. Nobody could betray that friendship and actually admit that his choice had been wrong. Until now.  
  
The relief to hear those words was clear on Chi Chi's haggard features and she was actually smiling as she wiped away her tears. "Thank you, Bulma," she choked. "I wanted to hear someone else say that so that I didn't think I was being selfish."  
  
"Gohan deserves his father. You need your husband. There's nothing selfish in that logic. It's the truth." She finished with Trunks' changing and settled him back into his seat. The infant's eyes were heavy with sleep and he didn't make any more of a fuss as he slowly drifted off. Bulma was so proud of him that her heart ached and, as usual, she inevitably thought of his father...  
  
Chi Chi saw the troubled expression cross over her friend's face and immediately recognized it. "How is that-" She cleared her throat and tried again. "How is… Vegeta?"  
  
Bulma's shoulders sagged when she admitted in a quiet voice, "I wouldn't know."  
  
"He's not living with you?"  
  
"He left a few weeks ago after a… terrible fight. I don't know where he's gone."  
  
This was news to Chi Chi but she filed the information away until her mind could deal with this revelation and how she could possibly use it to her advantage. She would always brilliantly loathe that destructive alien for upsetting the course she had carefully planned out for her family. Where Vegeta was concerned, there was still a score she intended to settle. "We're both of us abandoned by our men," she moaned and erupted into fresh tears. "We're left to raise our children all on our own! How could this happen?!"  
  
Rubbing her friend's back as she sobbed, Bulma soothed, "It's all going to be okay, Chi Chi. Gohan is a strong boy, very mature for his age. He'll be a real help around the house-"  
  
"That's not what's wrong!" Chi Chi screamed up at the ceiling. "I'm pregnant, Bulma! I'm going to have another baby and my husband is dead! I have no money! What am I going to DO?!"  
  
Giving her friend one astonished blink, it took Bulma a moment to absorb this new information. Apparently, Gokou had gotten off more than just a last shot at Cell before leaving this world, after all. Bulma ended up offering the only answer that she could. "Move in with me," she said.  
  
Chi Chi stared at her as if she were mad. "You-you're not serious..."  
  
"I'm very serious," Bulma responded calmly. There was actually a ghost of a smile on her face. "I'd love the company and I could use your expertise on how to raise a half-Saiyan baby. I'll admit, I'm at a loss on what to expect from Trunks. We have more than enough room and Gohan will be close to all of the good schools. You won't be facing your pregnancy alone and the nearest hospital is just down the road. What do you say?"  
  
After one stunned moment, Chi Chi overcame her paralysis and leapt into Bulma's arms with a relieved squeal of delight. They were still babbling in joy when Gohan walked in carrying several fish on a line.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked curiously. Behind him, his grandfather forced his immense bulk through the small door and into the kitchen, looking around with his usual kind-hearted cluelessness. "Chi Chi? You okay?"  
  
"Oh father, for once I'm wonderful!" Chi Chi gushed. She went over to Gohan and wrapped her arms around the boy. "We're going to move into Capsule Corporation! Isn't that great?"  
  
"We are?" Gohan echoed reluctantly.  
  
Peering up at the Ox King, Bulma offered, "You're more than welcome to join us, if you'd like." In the back of her mind she was picturing her mother hiding all of the delicate china and crystal before this clumsy behemoth set one foot in the house.  
  
"No, No, No! Someone has to look after the house and the livestock," the man said enthusiastically. "The two of you go! You'll have a blast!"  
  
"Maybe… maybe it won't be so bad," Gohan considered out loud. "It'd be kind of nice to spar with Vegeta. If, y'know, he'd even let me-"  
  
"Do you honestly think I would have accepted if that horrible man were still living there?" Chi Chi cried, whirling on her heel and advancing on her only child. She pointed a rigid finger at his nose. "Vegeta has moved out for good. I won't tolerate you hanging around the likes of him, that green monster is bad enough!"  
  
"But, mom! Piccolo-"  
  
"No buts! Your fighting days are over! It's time to hit the books, young man!" With that, she marched off into the bedroom in preparation to get their belongings packed.  
  
Everyone in the kitchen fell into stunned silence from the tirade. The Ox King muttered something about feeding the chickens and forced his girth outside. Gohan's cheeks blazed scarlet and he dropped his head and went to his room before his tears embarrassed him further. Now alone in the kitchen, Bulma found her own face was as flushed as the boy's, though for an entirely different reason.  
  
"What the hell have I just done?" she muttered under her breath with dawning realization.  
  
  
  
Packing up in record time, Bulma touched down in the Capsule Corporation yard three hours and two extra passengers later. Chi Chi appeared to be finally shelving her grief at long last and anticipating the change in address. She and Bulma's mother started exchanging recipes even before they were inside the house.  
  
Gohan was a different story. He was always a polite young man who rarely ever complained but it was clear to Bulma that he was upset by the suddenness of the move. His dark bangs hung over his face in an untidy mess and his clothes seemed to hang on his too-lean frame. Unpacking his and his mother's belongings, he hung back as his mother and Bulma's parents disappeared into the Headquarters building. When he finally looked up at Bulma, the loss in his dark eyes was staggering. "Has Vegeta really left, Bulma?"  
  
Nodding, she responded, "Yes, Gohan. He has."  
  
The boy looked sadly down at his feet. Bulma had to resist the urge to sweep that lonesome child up and assure him that everything was going to be okay. He just had to give it some time. As if picking up the thought, he took a deep breath and picked up his suitcase and followed his mother into the house without another word. For some reason, Bulma found the boy's unusual sullenness more than just a little disconcerting.  
  
  
  
Bulma ended up being very relieved for the younger woman's presence, after all. Practically the day after her guests moved in, she fell prey to a nasty viral infection that left her sick and weak for the rest of the month. Chi Chi's expert ministrations helped her through the worst of the inexplicable illness and she was able to rest with the assurance that Trunks was being well tended to.  
  
Thankfully, when she felt strong enough to return to work, there were no more threatening reminders to arrive in the mail for her. That menacing note was never far from her thoughts. The accounting department notified her that there had finally been some activity on Vegeta's charge card. Eyeing the receipts they provided, she discovered that the Saiyan had first dined at some restaurant called the Gilded Osprey the very day she had visited her friends. After apparently enjoying the rich fare, he continued eating out at expensive establishments for the rest of the week. At the moment, he was checked into an affluent hotel on the East Coast and rediscovering the joys of room service.  
  
Leaning back in her desk, Bulma set the papers down and regarded the far wall with a mixture of emotions. Vegeta had obviously made up his mind to continue his solitary pursuits and ignore her and their son. He was going to live the life of a carefree bachelor at the expense of Capsule Corporation. There was no telling how long it would take for him to come around. If he ever would.  
  
It was time for her to move on.  
  
  
  
  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Chapter Four: The FATE of Vegeta! 


	4. Downward Spiral

Two Sides To A Story  
  
Chapter Four  
  
  
  
"Sir, I'm sorry to have to report that the Saiyan is dying."  
  
The man paused the microphone long enough to thoughtfully sip at his coffee before resuming his grim dictation; "The date is Wednesday, July 6, of the year 767. The time is, oh… exactly 0846 PST. Recording this transcript is Professor Gerald Willis assigned to Level Two of the Installation. These are confidential notations intended only for the Base Commander, Colonel Bedlam. Sir, my report is as follows;  
  
"There has been a progressive deterioration in the male alien's health ever since his capture by Specimen F, eleven days ago. At the time, the Saiyan was suffering the effects of opiate exposure and was easily subdued. Unfortunately, that manageable state was extremely short-lived and we have encountered problems maintaining it. At the moment, my staff has resorted to a previously untested synthetic tranquilizer. The side effects are cumulative and potentially devastating but honestly, we're all at a loss of how else to cope with this new specimen.  
  
"The few times that the alien has managed consciousness, he has proven to be belligerent and lethal. One of my staff, Doctor Felicia Brevas, made the mistake of approaching him before he was in proper restraints and was disemboweled on the spot. I've since issued the order that the alien constantly remain in his bonds. As of seventeen hours ago, his system has begun to reject the intravenous supplements we've been providing. His internal organs are systematically shutting down one by one. Despite our best efforts to prevent it, he is not expected to survive much- "  
  
He jumped in place when his beeper went off. Pulling it out of the pocket of his lab coat, his morose features paled even further when he read the tiny display. A part of him had been anticipating this call but it was too early, much too early.  
  
It meant that the Saiyan was in his final throes.  
  
Professionalism and propriety be damned, the scientist sprinted from his office to the nearest staircase. He couldn't even spare the valuable seconds it would take for the elevator to reach his level. Pounding down the stairs to Level Two, he ran to the immense steel doors that were at the end of the corridor. Frisking himself for his passkey, he quickly slid it through the slot and entered his personal code. There was the sound of huge locks disengaging in the reinforced metal walls and with a groan, the doors parted on their tracks wide enough for a man to pass through before immediately closing after only a five second delay timer.  
  
Professor Willis squeezed himself through and immediately appraised the situation. A collection of medical staff and guards were milling nervously around one side of the Plexiglas wall.  
  
"What's his status?" he barked.  
  
"It's not good, Professor," a Lieutenant informed him.  
  
The staff and servicemen parted, permitting him through to view the scene personally. Even the scientist's usual stoic expression flagged at the sight before him.  
  
The observation cell was precisely that; a solitary cube in the center of the impenetrable metal room. It was monitored around the clock by a state of the art security system and a cadre of Special Forces personnel. The cube was only ten feet square and enclosed on all sides, the material composed of a transparent, blast-proof metal alloy with the consistency of diamond. The only furnishings were a single cot bolted to the floor and a toilet in the far corner. At the moment, everything was splotched with bright crimson.  
  
Hunkering down beside one wall, Professor Willis examined the contorted figure lying only a mere foot away from him. "Specimen V," he called out, knocking urgently on the glass. "Specimen V!"  
  
Reacting to the human presence, the lone figure's slight form eased its awful spasms long enough to look around. He raised his head and squinted at the man, trying to focus. "M-My… name," he grated out through clenched teeth, "…is-is Veh-Vegeta…" He spat out a mouthful of gore at the face only inches from his own. It splattered against the clear wall and ran down the surface in putrid streamers. As if the mere effort cost him the last of his precious reserves, Vegeta fell limp to the floor.  
  
At the same time, the monitors that displayed his status went flat- line.  
  
Jumping to his feet, the scientist went to the door and proceeded to enter his code to unlock it.  
  
"Sir, you can't do that! I don't have Colonel Bedlam's approval," the Lieutenant objected, trying fruitlessly to dial his cellphone and restrain the scientist at the same time. All of the others were hovering back uneasily, unsure of what to do.  
  
Shoving him away, Willis entered the last number and pulled open the door. "Get it, then! In the meantime, I'll make sure that we all have our jobs by keeping this alien alive!" He entered the room and knelt down beside the stricken Saiyan, feeling for a pulse and finding nothing. Trying to roll the alien onto his back was an impossibility, his hands and forearms were bound behind his back with metal shackles. "I need the key!" he barked out to the Lieutenant.  
  
The officer eyed him with obvious trepidation. "Sir, I'm not sure-"  
  
"!!NOW!!" he screamed. "He's dying!"  
  
Reluctantly, the soldier entered the cell and did as he was told. There was about a half a second of apprehension when the locks were undone and the alien's arms freed. Well aware of the devastating nature of their feral acquisition, everyone held their breath believing that the display was some manner of ruse. Nothing happened. The staff finally became animated and let their training take over.  
  
Hefting the limp alien onto a stretcher, Professor Willis climbed on top of him and began doing steady chest compressions while his medical staff wheeled him towards the exit. "Unlock the door!" he ordered to the Corporal stationed at the control panel. When he got no response, he glared at the Lieutenant.  
  
Taking a deep breath, the officer gave one curt nod to his subordinate who immediately entered the code for the door to open.  
  
No sooner was there the resounding boom of the locks disengaging then Willis glanced at the readout on the crash cart and felt a rush of relief. There was a sudden, jagged blip on the monitor followed by several more. "I have a heart rhythm-"  
  
"That's not all you've got," Vegeta snarled out from underneath of him. The pair exchanged one ironic glance at one another before the Saiyan threw the shocked scientist the length of the room.  
  
Nobody was prepared when the alien jumped from the stretcher and bolted for the exit. The huge doors had already timed through their brief cycle and were sliding closed again. The only one in Vegeta's way was the flustered Corporal who was shouldering his rifle just as the Saiyan tackled him, propelling them both through the exit with his momentum. Behind them, the immense doors slammed shut with a resounding crash of finality.  
  
Dazed, the young guard was trying to locate his weapon when Vegeta leapt upon him and smashed his knee down into the back of the man's neck. The soldier's face collided with the hard tile with such force that his head virtually exploded.  
  
Clarions sounded off and the lights of the Level transformed into a rheumy red. Following that were the sounds of the doors cycling up for another brief opening, no doubt from the staff trapped on the other side. Vegeta located the code-key controls and propelled his fist through the console all the way up to his elbow, hauling out a handful of wires and cables. A different sound was added to the alarms as the doors parted about half a foot and came to an abrupt stop, servos grinding in protest as the cycle was interrupted. Vegeta didn't linger around to gloat. The soldiers were pointing their automatic weapons through the narrow gap and opened fire without hesitation. One slug burned a trail across the Saiyan's thigh before he dove for cover into the stairwell.  
  
Pausing long enough to catch his breath, Vegeta spat out a mouthful of blood and grimaced in pain. He'd had to almost bite through his tongue to generate enough blood to make the false hemorrhaging look convincing. Simulating the heart and other organ failure had merely been mind over matter. A Saiyan in his initial training learned how to control the involuntary bodily functions in order to block out pain and slow blood loss. Even feigning death came in handy, when all else failed.  
  
Despite his seemingly energetic state, Vegeta wasn't anywhere close to being at his usual level and he knew it. His arms were riddled with needle marks from the tests the human's ran on him day and night and the drugs they pumped into him had all but negated his ki. His surroundings threatened to warp and dim from the sedation but he fought the effects. He was hoping that the jump-start to his system would burn the chemicals off but he didn't have any time to wait around for it to happen. The trapped staff was trying to over-ride the commands that had them closed off inside of the Isolation section. The only route of escape was the elevator that was directly across from him. Every time he so much as spared a glance around the doorframe, the soldiers started shooting.  
  
To his surprise, the elevator doors began to slide open and Vegeta sprinted across the corridor, charging into it without a second's hesitation. He managed to throw out two startled soldiers who were cut down by their own fellow's fire. Inside of the close confines of the elevator, the small space was a definite disadvantage for the soldiers who now had to contend with a mad-as-hell alien who was lashing out with everything he had. Kicking and punching out with as much force as he could spare, Vegeta discovered the remaining five soldiers were no match for his speed and ferocity. Only one managed to land a fist on his face and the Saiyan retaliated by ripping the heart out of his chest.  
  
Standing in the middle of the gore wearing only a hospital gown, Vegeta should have felt grim satisfaction at his prowess. For once, he didn't allow the arrogance to cloud his judgement. He was far from safe and he had absolutely no clue where he was. The events since that night the junkie bitch had thrown the powder in his face were hazy and ragged. All he recalled were shadowy faces, pinpricks of pain and hampering restraints. There was no telling how long he had been imprisoned here but he was reasonably certain that it had been more than just a few days.  
  
The sound of footfalls pounding down the staircase caught his attention and he kicked out a body that was stopping the elevator doors from closing and moved to the wall panel. The only light that was on was L2 and above that were L1 and MAIN. Vegeta pressed MAIN and felt the metal box begin its ascent.  
  
Looking around nervously, it occurred to him that the armored humans would be anticipating this maneuver and probably be waiting for him at his intended destination. He hit the emergency stop and then looked at the ceiling for an exit. When he looked at the floor, he finally allowed himself a thin-lipped smile.  
  
  
  
Two cadres of Special Forces were arranged in a defensive half-moon posture around the elevator doors on the Main level. There had been one tense moment when the course of the elevator had stopped for about forty- two seconds before it started again.  
  
"Everybody ready," cautioned the Major on duty.  
  
Safety's clicked off of automatic weapons and the soldiers got down on one knee as the elevator reached their level.  
  
"!!FIRE!!" shouted the Major as the doors parted.  
  
The staccato sound of weapon's fire erupted like thunder in the narrow foyer. Bullets perforated the walls of the elevator before the Major called out, "Hold your fire!" He rose and advanced towards the opening, noticing only the bodies of the first cadre he had assigned to investigate the security breech. He glanced at the ceiling and saw that it was intact but couldn't help but notice the hole in the floor. It explained the forty- two second delay. "Shit!" he cursed and immediately reached for his comlink. His booming voice erupted from all of the speakers inside of the installation.  
  
"Major Norton to all Units. Specimen V is loose somewhere on the lower levels. Containment has been unsuccessful. All personnel are to initiate lock-down procedures at once. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill! You have orders to shoot on sight!"  
  
Assigning one cadre to secure the level, the Major organized the rest of his men to begin a thorough sweep of the rest of the Installation. For the first few minutes, the remaining soldiers were tense and jumpy from adrenaline but they eventually began to calm down and mill around. Several two-man groups splintered off to begin investigating the level they were on, leaving behind five soldiers.  
  
"I don't like this. I don't like this one little bit," a Corporal grumbled under his breath. "This reminds me of a movie I once saw-"  
  
Around him, the others erupted into loud groans. "Tucker, you always start harping on about movies you see," the Sergeant snapped at him. He shouldered the strap to his machine gun and went into the elevator stall to begin the grim task of pulling out the dead.  
  
"It's always the guys that get left behind who get picked off first!" Tucker shot back. "I hate to break it to you- But that's US!"  
  
"You are so full of shit," muttered the Sergeant.  
  
That was when Vegeta kicked out the escape panel above him and dropped through the ceiling onto the soldier's back. The Sergeant could barely react before hands grabbed either side of his head and twisted with a sharp jerk, breaking his neck.  
  
"Ohshitohshitohshitohshit!" Tucker bawled as the alien rose and fixed a crazed stare in his direction. He began backpedaling and shooting at the same time, his aim wild and panicked. Several bullets ricocheted and one serviceman screamed out, "Watch the glass, Tucker! For God's sake, watch the fucking glass!"  
  
Evading the volley of erratic gunfire, Vegeta slid across the smooth floor and managed to knock the legs out from the luckless Corporal. Wrestling the gun out of his hands, he wrapped an arm around the struggling human's neck and held him as a living shield as he backed away from the three remaining soldiers.  
  
"Aw cripes, I'm gonna die," Tucker moaned.  
  
"Got that right," Vegeta assured him. "Where am I? What is this place?"  
  
"You- you're in Installation Fifteen."  
  
"That doesn't mean anything to me!"  
  
"It-it used to be a submarine base operated by the Red Ribbon Army," Tucker said in a frantic rush. "Now it's a top secret lab that develops high-tech weapons and studies things l-like y-y-you!"  
  
"Am I still on earth? Are we in space?"  
  
Unable to stammer out a reply, the Corporal raised a trembling hand at the far wall. At first, the view beyond the large window didn't register on the Saiyan's numbed senses. There was only a murky blackness that he originally associated with night and thought it was of no consequence to him. Taking a closer look, he noticed transparent creatures moving beyond the thick glass, clearly attracted to the light the level generated.  
  
They were underwater.  
  
Vegeta's grim visage darkened with this new information but that was about it. "How far down are we?"  
  
"Eighty fathoms," Tucker whispered and when the arm tightened around his neck, he corrected himself with, "That's about four hundred and eighty feet."  
  
"Is that all? I hope you can swim," Vegeta said with a dry chuckle as he raised his free hand at the wall. His fingers started to glow a soft blue that began to grow in intensity the harder the Saiyan focused his power. It wasn't easy collecting the tattered threads of his ki but he was determined to be free of this asylum at any cost. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead from the effort, and his concentration wasn't helped as the soldier he was holding began reciting a prayer.  
  
"Specimen V!" shouted an authoritative voice.  
  
Reinforcements had arrived, sealing off any other avenues of escape but the one Vegeta had chosen. One human in particular seemed to be in charge of this heavily armed group, actually stepping ahead of his subordinates to confront him, both hands empty of weapons. "I'm Colonel Bedlam. I'm in charge of this Installation. If you blow out that window, you'll kill us all."  
  
"What's the downside to that observation?" Vegeta growled.  
  
"You'll die as well."  
  
"Not me. You don't know what I'm capable of." To lend import to his words, the ki in his palm finally coalesced into a compact, deadly ball. At the sight of it, Vegeta's smirk broadened into a cold grin of accomplishment. He locked eyes with the impassive Colonel long enough to prove he was serious before throwing his hostage towards the soldiers. Whirling towards the window, he raised his hand and threw the destructive energy as hard as he could.  
  
The explosion of ki and the hail of bullets were virtually simultaneous.  
  
  
  
"I lost nine men to that… that creature," Colonel Bedlam stated gravely, standing in front of an observation window and watching the activity below them.  
  
"It could have been worse," Professor Willis attempted.  
  
"It very nearly was!" the officer bellowed at him. "If his blast had penetrated one eighth of an inch more of the glass, this entire base would have been full of water. Since you're the one who broke protocol, why don't you explain this near-disaster to the Military Council?"  
  
Lapsing into troubled silence, the scientist only maintained his place beside his superior. He more than deserved the dressing-down for his rash actions, he had very nearly cost all of them their lives.  
  
"You were fully briefed of his treacherous nature. Why did you ignore the warnings?" Bedlam continued to hammer away at him.  
  
"I have to discount the validity of Specimen F's statements. I don't think he's to be trusted," Willis said.  
  
"And he is?!" the Colonel barked, motioning to the operating room below them. There was harried movement from surgeons and nurses who were crowded around Vegeta's unconscious form. "At least the other one has never killed any of my men."  
  
"Not yet."  
  
Shelving his initial displeasure, the Base Commander eyed the other man curiously. "What do you suspect?"  
  
"Specimen F is shrewd and manipulative. I know that he's given us invaluable information on weapons design and space propulsion. He has been cooperative and accommodating to both my staff and myself but…"  
  
"The word 'but' is not a particularly scientific observation, Gerald."  
  
"I stand by my earlier statement, Colonel. I'm accepting Specimen F's recommendations with extreme reservations. I'm certain that his motivations are far from honorable."  
  
"I'm just going to worry about the alien who was in alliance with the brute who decimated the Naval Fleet. Specimen V down there owes us for the loss. If I get my way, he'll never see the light of day ever again. That other one is of no consequence to me. So long as he remains cooperative," Bedlam said in an ominous tone. Before the scientist could comment, the officer noticed one of the surgeons stepping back from the operating table. Stepping over to the intercom, he pressed the button. "Report."  
  
"The alien's dense musculature saved him from the worst of the weapon's fire, Colonel," the surgeon said crisply. "Only two bullets caused any kind of significant injury; one ricocheted off of a rib and perforated the left lung. The other clipped a section of the small intestine causing minor internal bleeding. We've retrieved all of the fragments and repaired the damage. Hopefully his regenerative abilities will negate the trauma and help speed recovery."  
  
"Excellent work," Bedlam praised and stepped back, muttering to himself, "He was shot in eleven places and none of them were critical. Unbelievable."  
  
"Specimen V is proving to be more resilient than I could ever have anticipated," Willis admitted, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice.  
  
Snapping his head around, the Colonel picked up on that impressed tone and barked out, "No more heroics, Gerald. Not with this one. If he goes flat-line again, he stays in that damn cell until he starts to rot. I won't tolerate another breech of security, is that understood?"  
  
"Perfectly, Colonel. I appreciate your lenience in this matter."  
  
Bedlam grunted. "What other choice do I have? You're the best at what you do and we both know it. Just use your head the next time." Without another word, the man exited the room and returned to his duties. He still had staff that needed de-briefing and had a lot of calls to make. Behind him, Willis glanced at his watch.  
  
It wasn't even noon yet.  
  
  
  
One more second, perhaps two and he would have gathered enough energy to shatter the glass instead of crack it.  
  
Vegeta realized that his single chance of escape was gone. The humans were not going to take any kind of a chance with him now. He was reduced to lying face down on his cot, wrists and ankles secured by padded restraints. The logic of this maneuver was to permit the wounds he had received from his thwarted escape, the opportunity to heal. He had turned just as the guards opened fire and the majority of the bullets had punched into his back. Staff came and went around the clock changing dressings, replacing intravenous bags and giving him more of that damned sedation. Vegeta was no longer sure if the time of the escape attempt had been days ago or weeks. He had no sense of time as one day blurred into another. Even the action of moving his head was a taxing effort for him now. His rare moments of consciousness were spent staring forlornly at the closed doors of the chamber he was trapped in. For the remainder of the time he was lost to dreams, nightmares…  
  
…and memories.  
  
  
  
"You never asked me," Trunks finally braved himself to speak up.  
  
Vegeta had been absorbed in his sour musings and glared at his son. "Asked you what?"  
  
"How you died in my timeline."  
  
The older Saiyan only stared at him in confusion.  
  
This exchange occurred during the period that they had spent together in the Room of Spirit and Time. The initial standoff between them had lasted for perhaps three weeks before they willingly began to interact. By this time, Trunks was desperately lonely and wanted nothing more than to spend time with the father he had never known. Vegeta's own reasons for socializing were, as ever, known only to him. To his credit, he didn't tell the teenager to shut up when the youth began that enthusiastic babbling that was so much like his mother. Perhaps, in his own distant way, he had been lonely too.  
  
In their initial spars, the boy proved that he was tough as nails and resilient but, unfortunately, had a fighting style that was identical to Gokou's; the by-product of being trained by Gohan in his own timeline. The second Vegeta identified that technique, he resolved to correct that imperfection even if it came to the detriment of his own torturous training. There was no damned way that any child of his (an unwanted queer- haired, hybrid bastard he may be) was going to purposely flaunt the fighting style of his most loathed rival.  
  
So, the two clashed until the empathic nature of the mystical room echoed their ferocity and became the consistency of molten lava. Two blond- haired antagonists threw ki-blasts and blows at one another with complete abandon, answering the call for battle that sang in their blood. No quarter was spared for the other, concepts of mercy and compassion were abandoned as father and son pounded away at one another until the blood would fly. Any human to view the savagery that the pair exhibited would dismiss the act as senseless violence. It was abuse at it's most depraved, made even more tragic by the direct relationship between the antagonists. It was insanity. Barbarism. Complete madness.  
  
To a Saiyan: It was a means of familial bonding.  
  
That truth was never more displayed then the day the pair had taken a unanimous day-off from the frenzied pace of their training. Actually, they were both too sore and injured from the previous day's efforts but neither would admit it. Trunks was seated at the table holding an ice bag to his left shoulder which had been dislocated fourteen hours ago. He had set it himself but it was still badly swollen. The same for his nose. There was a Band-Aid across the bridge and he had to breathe through his mouth.  
  
There was a muted curse from the bedroom and Vegeta hobbled out. He made it as far as the kitchen table and collapsed into the nearest chair, propping his right leg up on another one. His ankle was swollen to twice its normal size and a dark purple color around the joint. Without a word, Trunks slid over his ice pack and went to the freezer to get himself another.  
  
For awhile neither of them uttered a word, lapsing into a state that was less of a meditation and more of an exhausted doze. They had really gone at it the day before. The energies released in their mutual blasts would have destroyed the earth a dozen times over. When they had run out of the destructive energy and lapsed back into their human states, they had continued close-quarter fighting until the only thing holding them up was their own will power.  
  
Vegeta had been glowering at his injured foot wondering how much of a set-back this was going to cost him when the boy started his questions, as he knew he eventually would. To his consternation and regret, the older Saiyan had quickly discovered that there were far worse experiences than defeat and death.  
  
It was being trapped in a confined space with a teenager.  
  
"Why should I care?" he parried the boy's question about his death in the future timeline.  
  
Trunks blinked. "Aren't you even curious?"  
  
The thought had crossed Vegeta's mind on occasion but he really couldn't have been bothered to bring up the subject. He offered the teen a vague shrug but passed him a look that the younger Saiyan concluded as interest.  
  
"In my timeline, you left Capsule Corporation shortly after mom got pregnant. You caused a lot of trouble on Earth. The Z Fighters all thought that they were going to have to unite and battle against you again."  
  
"This time, they would have lost," Vegeta sniffed.  
  
Unfazed by the boast, Trunks responded evenly, "Gokou was a Super Saiyan by then and Gohan was on the cusp of the transformation. You never achieved that state in my timeline."  
  
Eyes wide, Vegeta snapped his head around in shock. Seated across from him, his son was smiling but there was little humor in the expression. "Your future self never got the warning about the Android threat and so you didn't have the need to leave the planet and train. You thought the ascension would come to you eventually. You believed that you had decades ahead of you when you really had only months…"  
  
"The Androids…"  
  
"By the time they were done with you, there was nothing left but a handful of ashes. Gohan watched the battle. He said that it lasted all of three minutes."  
  
Vegeta's face filled with hot blood at the mere memory of his humiliating defeat at the hands of Android 18. He had been Super Saiyan when he had battled her and hadn't lasted much longer. "Not in this time. Not like that. I won't be defeated by a pair of over-grown toasters."  
  
"Your ego is unbelievable," Trunks ground out from between clenched teeth. "If you hadn't blown down the door to Doctor Gero's lab we could have planned a strategy-"  
  
"What would have worked?" Vegeta shot back. "If there's anyone to blame here, go and confront Kakarrot. It was his stupidity that allowed the damn maniac to escape and create those abominations to begin with." He observed how the teenager's face flushed with his criticism. "Don't like it when I put down your revered hero, do you boy?"  
  
"Gokou was-is the greatest warrior to ever live!"  
  
"Confined to this pathetic world, I should think so. If not for the blow to his head, he would have been a true Saiyan-"  
  
"-Like you?"  
  
"And what's so wrong with that?"  
  
"What have you ever created but death and destruction wherever you went?" Trunks shouted at him. "You're horrible! Sometimes I wish that Gokou had been my father instead of you!"  
  
At the deliberate insult, Vegeta's lips became a bloodless straight line. "If I'd had my way, you never would have been conceived at all. If you want to blame anyone for the piss-poor origins of the sperm that created you, blame that treacherous mother of yours. I never volunteered for the job."  
  
All of the blood drained out of Trunks face as if he'd been slapped. "Mom… she-she wouldn't have done that-"  
  
"Why do you think I walked out?!" Vegeta snapped, banging his fist down on the table in frustration. "I made it clear to her that I was to remain the last of my line. I trusted her! And she went ahead and-" He visibly grappled with his temper before deliberately changing the subject. "I don't know the circumstances of what happened between the future incarnation of myself and Bul- that woman. All I know is what happened here. In this timeline."  
  
In a small voice, Trunks managed to get out, "What did happen?"  
  
Crossing his arms and looking away, the Saiyan said on a low voice, "It doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done…"  
  
"Of course it matters! I deserve to know who my father is."  
  
" 'You deserve'," Vegeta sneered. "My, aren't you the special one. What about what I deserve? I was destined to be the King of my people and rule an empire of millions. Not be reduced to a lowly soldier with a handful of survivors. Do NOT whine about stupid demands! No one ever answered my questions when I was your age. I was expected to keep my mouth shut and follow orders. You've been spoiled."  
  
Trunks should have taken the warning that was clear in his father's voice but he pressed on. "You don't have any idea what kind of life I've had. I lost my friends one by one, watched my city and home turn to rubble. Each loss of life transformed my mother into a shadow of her former self. The only one who was like a real father to me was slaughtered and I risked everything to come back here and set things right. Who gives a shit about your loss? The Saiyans were just a race of shape-changing murderers-"  
  
Trunks squawked as Vegeta lunged across the table and grabbed a handful of his collar, hauling him forward until their faces were only an inch apart. "Don't you EVER insult the Saiyan race!" Vegeta hissed. "I will always be their prince, even if it is to just a populace of ghosts. The blood of royalty does not die just because someone wills it so. Frieza slaughtered my people without even allowing them a final battle and I've been spending the remainder of my days trying to catch up to them. At least you are alive, boy," he released Trunks and shoved him backwards with an expression of disdain. "Me? I died the day that Vegetasei was destroyed."  
  
Shaking in his seat, Trunks stared helplessly at the other Saiyan, unable to speak. Vegeta couldn't fathom the reason for the sudden shock on the teenager's face until he wiped away the moisture that had collected on his cheek. He had dismissed it as sweat until he looked down at his fingertips.  
  
It was tears.  
  
Without a word, Vegeta got to his feet and limped painfully out of the kitchen to start the day's training even though he was in no shape for it, physically or mentally. Remaining behind, Trunks couldn't have followed even if he had wanted to, thunderstruck by what he had seen and heard.  
  
"Father," he whispered.  
  
  
  
"Trunks," Vegeta croaked.  
  
He buried his burning face into the pillow and let his body shudder with the aftermath of his grief. His son. The boy whose future representation had effortlessly killed both Frieza and his supposedly omnipotent father. The teen-ager had evolved into his Super Saiyan form easily fifteen years before he had himself. Despite the obvious fighting flaws associated with being trained only by Kakarrot's boy, the youth had displayed a stubborn and violent streak that had made his own Saiyan heart surge with pride. During their year together, they had reached a mutual understanding that had been less than a friendship but much more than just a mutual partnership. They had become father and son.  
  
In direct conflict to the teen's destructive nature was a side that was sensitive and emotional. No doubt a by-product of the human taint in the boy's blood and his own desertion in Trunks' timeline. Here, he was alive and the boy was a mere infant. There was no telling how far Trunks could come in his training if he were to shoulder the responsibility.  
  
The question nagged away at him… Did he want to be a father?  
  
"Veh," a little voice whispered into his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut at the intruding memory.  
  
  
  
He had entered the kitchen during one of his aimless roamings of the compound after his return from the Cell games and found Bulma feeding the brat in his ridiculous highchair. The lavender-haired mongrel was wearing more food then he had consumed and Vegeta sidestepped them and the mess to search the fridge for leftovers.  
  
"There's some pork roast on the bottom shelf," Bulma told him and got a sour grunt for her effort.  
  
Trunks was watching him with rapt attention. "Veh," he spouted through lips smeared with strained carrots. "…Veh? VEH!"  
  
"Doesn't that creature say anything else?" Vegeta asked peevishly. He pulled a couple of plates from the fridge and kicked the door closed as he moved to the counter.  
  
Bulma was watching how the baby never took his eyes off of the elder Saiyan. "Vegeta?"  
  
"Vehta!" Trunks cried out even as Vegeta uttered a reluctant; "What do you want?"  
  
"I think your son is calling for you by name," she said in an even voice, barely able to contain her joy.  
  
Turning in surprise, the Saiyan cast a curious look at the little five-month-old. Bulma held her breath in expectation; it was the first time that Vegeta had ever displayed any kind of interest in the child.  
  
"Vehta!" Trunks called out, stretching his pudgy arms up at his father. "Vehta? Veh? VETA!"  
  
Drawing back with a scowl, Vegeta claimed his plate of leftovers and sneered at Bulma with open contempt. "Quite the prodigy. You must be proud," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He walked out of the kitchen without another word to either of them.  
  
Trunks stared at the closing door with clear hurt in his blue eyes. "…Veh?" he mewled softly.  
  
  
  
Vegeta struggled with the bonds that held him down onto the bed. The damned memories were more like flashbacks and he was helpless to stop their course. "No more! Enough! I don't want to see anymore!" he screamed into the mattress. "Make it stop!" Stitches pulled and blood started to flow and he continued his efforts, oblivious that the Major on duty was calling urgently for medical assistance. He was starting to cough up bloody phlegm when the door to his transparent cage opened and humans clothed in white approached his bed. From his perspective they looked ten feet tall and he bared his teeth at them and snapped at empty air for them to keep their distance.  
  
"No," he objected when he saw the glint of a needle. "Not that. No more. Enough is en-" There was a prick of pain and then only a numbing heaviness that weighed down his limbs. He felt hands on his back, treating his wounds but was helpless to react to their presence.  
  
Perhaps… perhaps I deserve this torture; he mused just before unconsciousness enfolded him again. It's a fitting end for someone as evil as I am…  
  
  
  
"You're not, you know."  
  
Looking away from the television, Vegeta cast an amused glance at the woman who was sprawled on top of him. They were lying on the living room sofa in the Hammorski suite they shared. A light blanket covered their nude bodies as they relaxed from the aftermath of a passionate lovemaking session they had shared about a half-hour before. "I'm not what?"  
  
"Evil," Bulma said, raising her head from where it was resting on his broad chest. "Remember the conversation that we had two nights ago?"  
  
"I remember that you never did tell me how much longer your ex- lover's cock was than mine," he quipped.  
  
"Not that part, I mean-"  
  
"-And you're still not going to tell me, are you?"  
  
She slapped his cheek lightly. "Hush up. I'm trying to get to something-"  
  
"Don't hit me! You don't see me smacking you around the room!"  
  
"That's what I'm trying to get to if you'd just shut up long enough-"  
  
"Physically AND verbally abusive! No wonder that idiot ex-lover of yours left-"  
  
In an act of desperation, Bulma covered his mouth with her own to silence him for one minute. At first, his lips remained an indignant straight line but they gradually relented to her gentle insistence. The pair shared a brief kiss before she pulled back and said softly, "My point is that it bothers me when you just dismiss yourself as morally corrupt or evil. You're so much more than that."  
  
Lacing his fingers behind his head, Vegeta cast her a crafty smirk. "How can you be so sure? Perhaps I'm just putting on a good act for your benefit."  
  
"Oh?" she raised one delicate eyebrow. "What would be your motive?"  
  
The answer was immediate and predictable. "Great sex."  
  
"Vegeta, I have the sneaking suspicion that you could sniff out a good lay anywhere you went. I'm not buying it. Why else would you stay here with me?"  
  
"Riveting conversation."  
  
"Now you're just being sarcastic," she sighed.  
  
"What do you expect?"  
  
"I expect an honest answer. You're not here for the sex or comfort. You're completely healed now, you could leave anytime you wanted. Why are you really staying with me, Vegeta?"  
  
She slipped back and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders as he sat up. The two stared at one another for a moment before he looked away, his heavy brows drawing together in concentration. Bulma sensed that he was searching for the correct response and didn't rush him.  
  
"It's hard for me to come up with an answer that isn't evasive or insulting. That's how I've been conditioned to respond to direct questions all of my life," he finally admitted to her in a voice very different from his usual coarse manner. "I don't know what you want me to say, Bulma."  
  
"Just say the truth."  
  
He spared her a hesitant, sidelong glance before his eyes darted uneasily away. "I… feel safe when I'm with you," he said softly.  
  
" 'Safe'," she echoed.  
  
"It's a stupid answer-" He shook his head in frustration and started to get up.  
  
Bulma quickly grabbed his shoulder to prevent him from leaving. If he had wanted to, he could have shrugged off her hold with ease but instead he relented. He slumped against the backrest of the sofa and bowed his head as if in defeat. His cheeks were flushing slightly and that was how Bulma knew that he was telling the truth. "How many times have you ever admitted that? To how many people?"  
  
"Never. No one," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"Then it was the answer I wanted to hear," she said, smiling. Wrapping the blanket around both of their shoulders, she settled in close beside him. "Don't you understand what I'm trying to get at here, Vegeta? A truly evil person would have used me for what he could get and leave without a care in the world."  
  
"I couldn't do that. Not now." He cleared his throat self- consciously. "Not after what you've done for me."  
  
"And that's why you're not evil," Bulma reassured him. She wrapped her arms around him and settled her cheek against his, whispering into his ear, "That's why I love you."  
  
Unable to respond, he tightened his own arms around her slight form and burrowed his face into the hollow of her neck. As close as he was to her that instant, he was sure that he could smell her very soul. It was a unique, heady scent composed of trust, innocence and peace and he tried to will a portion of it into his own darkened heart. He was never sure if he was successful but couldn't discount the contentment that he felt whenever he was near her.  
  
  
  
"Everything…everything went downhill when we left the hotel," Vegeta muttered out loud. He stared hopelessly at the closed doors of the chamber and turned his head away when the view warped with bitter tears. "I was safe there… with her. I-I was happy. Where did it go so wrong? I don't… I don't understand-" He muffled his sobs into the pillow, shamed by the display but unable to prevent it. He was terribly weak and in constant pain and the dementia created by the drugs made everything so much worse. "Buh- Bulma, I-I'm sorry-"  
  
"Whenever I catch sight of you, you're in tears," a cold voice mocked by his bedside. "Not a very flattering sight, my little monkey prince. I hate to think what your father would say of this."  
  
Opening his swollen eyes a crack, Vegeta registered that the spoken words were in the extinct tongue of Saiyago, his true dialect. Looking up, he saw the figure looming over him and knew that the memories had finally given way to delusions. "Go away. You-you're not real."  
  
Frieza's black lips twitched in amusement. "If I were a hallucination, I like to think I'd pick better attire."  
  
Focusing past the tears and unsteady surroundings, the Saiyan examined the other alien more closely. Wearing a similar hospital gown, Frieza was without his arm and leg bands or that hideous helmet. He looked strangely naked without his gear, his exposed flesh waxy pale and shiny pink but there was no mistaking his identity. "Not possible," Vegeta said in a hoarse voice. "Trunks… he incinerated your remains. I saw him do it."  
  
"Yes, the boy," Frieza mused, staring down at his nails. "Curious little development, quite unexpected I'll admit. One little piece of me survived in the desert until the humans found me. Their cloning technology is crude but effective. I heard that they started on sheep. Go figure. Can't very well dismiss the end results, can I?" He extended his arms and did one complete circle before Vegeta's shocked, horrified gaze. "There's still a way to go before I'm complete. I've been very cooperative with the humans to get what I want. At first, it was just technology they were interested in. Then, imagine my delight when I sensed your ki and led them straight to you. They were ecstatic to have you in their custody, Vegeta. Apparently, you just make enemies everywhere you go."  
  
"You- you'll never get away with this alliance," Vegeta said in English. "They'll figure out what you're up to."  
  
Pursing his lips in amusement, Frieza arched one brow towards the scientist who had escorted him into the room. "He's irrational," the alien said smoothly. "I believe I'll need to be alone with him after all."  
  
"That's fine," the man remarked and before Vegeta's stunned gaze, he actually turned to leave.  
  
"Wait! You can't leave me here with him!" Vegeta shouted, pulling unsuccessfully at his bonds. "Don't go!"  
  
Before closing the door, the young scientist only looked at him with concentrated hatred. "You killed Felicia Brevas," he said in a tight voice. "She was my fiancée, you son of a bitch!" With that, he slammed the door and swiped his card through the lock, sealing both aliens' in the small cube together.  
  
"No," Vegeta whimpered, even as Frieza cleared the distance between them and knelt down beside the bed. For a long moment, the pale alien simply looked him over, his long tail waving lazily back and forth behind him. Eventually, he reached out and began running his hand over the bandages that covered the Saiyans back. At the mere touch, Vegeta moaned and tried to draw away but the restraints held him firmly down.  
  
"My poor chibi no ouji," Frieza soothed. "It occurs to me right now how much I have missed you."  
  
Feeling that cold hand brush over his tail scar and move slowly lower, Vegeta had never felt so helpless at any other time of his existence. He squeezed his eyes shut and tears spilled down his cheeks until Frieza moved in and licked them from his face. His saliva was like acid and left a stinging welt across the Saiyan's flesh.  
  
"I'm going to enjoy this," the pale alien promised him.  
  
  
  
Standing by the exit, the scientist turned to the Major on duty and remarked evenly, "I'm going to get a coffee. What do you say that I treat you and your men for, say… about ten minutes?"  
  
Major Norton looked hesitantly back at the transparent cube. He frowned in disgust at what the ghastly white and pick creature was initiating with the smaller one. His brief concern flagged when he reminded himself of the death of his fellow soldiers only a few days before. "That sounds fine by me," he said and ordered his men to clear the room.  
  
The gigantic doors parted and the staff slipped through for an informal break. When the barriers sealed closed again, they cut off the first of the agonized screams that came from the small cube.  
  
Everyone pretended not to notice.  
  
  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Chapter Five: The inevitable showdown between Vegeta and Frieza! 


	5. Poetic Justice

Two Sides To A Story  
  
Chapter Five  
  
  
  
Blood… Oh God, there was blood everywhere! And the-the screams were… deafening…  
  
It was never Hector Romesco's intention to ally himself with the Devil incarnate. For much of his adult life, he simply chose to concentrate on his studies and the pursuit of science. It had never been in his nature to purposely want to harm anyone. If asked whether he was capable of blind vengeance, he would have responded with a laughing negative. It was his unfortunate luck, and his trusting nature, which ultimately led to his premature demise…  
  
  
  
Hector was nursing a coffee in the small rest area on the far side of Sector Two when the first alarm sounded off. He had been patiently waiting for his fiancée to finish taking her samples from Specimen V and, at the noise, all of his blood turned to ice. Felicia Brevas, his beloved, had confided to him on more than one occasion that she feared their newest acquisition. If not for the intriguing elements that his blood work revealed, she would have asked for a transfer to Level One. Hector worked there in the cloning sector across from Weapons Advancement where Specimen F ("No need for such formalities. Call me Frieza.") was permitted to associate with the staff. Despite his repulsive appearance, the alien proved to be sociable and charming and Hector eventually warmed to him the more they interacted.  
  
"You're not like the other one," Hector had commented to him three days after Vegeta had been brought back and secured in Isolation.  
  
Frieza had been watching the sparse sea life outside of the observation view port of the young scientist's office. Level One had been his home for the last two years and he displayed no irritation at the limited confines of his prison. He was permitted surprising freedom in the few areas that he was allowed to visit, this office being one of them. "We're a completely different species. Mine being the far more evolved of the two, of course," he remarked condescendingly. "Saiyan's are savage little monkeys."  
  
"'Monkeys'?"  
  
"They possess tails, quite redundant appendages but for one unique quality that allow them to shape-change."  
  
"Into what?"  
  
"Nothing important," Frieza dismissed. He tapped at the thick glass, frightening away a curious jellyfish and his black lips stretched into a humorless grin. "A curious by-product that made them efficient cannon- fodder. Nothing more."  
  
"I get the impression that there was some familiarity between the two of you. Do you know him personally?" Hector asked.  
  
"Only by reputation," Frieza lied smoothly. His reflection's cold grin stretched even further as he elaborated, "This male, Vegeta, I believe his name to be, is only a lowly Saiyan even by his own definitions of the breed. Ignorant but very deadly. He cannot be trusted."  
  
Leaning away from his desk, the human nodded in blind acceptance. "They have him in restraints in Isolation but Felicia told me that sedation is becoming a concern. Apparently, his immune system is unprecedented and counteracts all of their drugs. Commander Bedlam fears that an escape is imminent."  
  
Dropping his leering smile, Frieza assumed an expression of deep concern and finally turned away from the window. "I know of the anatomy of this breed. I can offer a formula that will be more effective in… controlling him, if you would like it."  
  
Hector jumped to his feet and offered the alien his chair in front of the computer. "We'd appreciate anything you can give us that will help, Frieza. Will it really work?"  
  
"Oh, it'll work. Trust me," Frieza purred and began entering complex molecular interactions into the medicinal database. His grin was back, wider than ever.  
  
  
  
Emerging from the break room, Hector joined a squad of guards rushing to the Isolation sector. He prayed that it was only a false alarm but deep in his heart he knew that somehow, Felicia was involved.  
  
"Sir, you don't have clearance to come in here," the Lieutenant on duty informed him as the immense doors cycled up to open. The instant the metal barriers parted, he could hear the terrifying shrieks of agony and felt a responsive pain in his own chest. "Let me in! That's my fiancée! I know it! I have to get in there!"  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, but this is a restricted –Hey!" Hector shouldered aside one of the soldiers and cast a frenzied look inside of the chamber. The transparent cube was streaked with dark blood and the scene of utter pandemonium. At least six guards were seated on the Saiyan male as Professor Willis was injecting him with the synthetic tranquilizer that Frieza had concocted. His struggles were weakening but Hector couldn't help but notice that his right arm was coated in dripping gore up to his elbow.  
  
More agonized screams wrenched the scientist's gaze away from the feral alien. His wide eyes turned to where medical staff had crowded around a second individual lying on the floor. A pair of legs were kicking weakly and Hector recognized them at once. "…Felicia? !!FELICIA!!"  
  
The doctors lifted her onto a stretcher and Hector almost passed out on the spot. Felicia's usually immaculate white lab coat was coated in blood from her breasts to her knees. A single rope of grayish intestine protruded from the gaping wound on her midriff and at first, Hector couldn't figure out what that strange growth was. "Felicia!"  
  
"H-Hector?" Felicia looked around blindly and finally saw him. Her face was ghostly pale and streaked with tears. "Hector! It-It hurts! It hurrrrrrrrrts-" She vomited an immense gout of blood that appeared almost solid with its consistency. After that, she succumbed to wrenching convulsions.  
  
Hector never saw her body go into its horrific death-throes on the stretcher, by then he had mercifully passed out.  
  
Her remains were cremated and the memorial service was held in the chapel on the Main level where the entire off-duty staff attended. All of the people employed at Installation 15 were deliberately chosen for their top- secret positions because none of them possessed any close relatives. It was standard practice but none of it eased Hector Romesco's heart that he should be the sole person left behind to mourn her unfair passing. He took a mandatory two-week absence and didn't return in much better spirits than how he'd left, but for one major factor; He wanted vengeance.  
  
Predictably, Frieza was there. He easily assumed the literal role of being the Devil over his left shoulder, whispering dark suggestions into the scientist's half-listening ear.  
  
"Saiyan's are prideful monkeys. You can't hurt them with words or even punishment. Only one thing penetrates their eternal arrogance," Frieza told him with a sly, knowing tone.  
  
"What's that?" Hector asked apathetically. He had a picture of Felicia as the wallpaper on his computer desktop and now stared at her carefree smiling image with tears in his eyes. It had only been three days since he had returned and her death was terribly fresh in his mind. He hadn't slept in days and, quite unknown to him, his psyche was desperately vulnerable to suggestions.  
  
With the insight of a true predator, Frieza homed in on that weakness and began murmuring his intentions without hesitation. He had been locked away in this place and rarely made demands beyond his wish for liberties involving more freedom of movement. Now he had another favor to ask. Humans were so unappealing to his personal tastes but he had always enjoyed the unique sensation of Saiyan flesh against his own. His simple request would benefit the both of them…  
  
…and Hector went right along with it.  
  
  
  
Professor Gerald Willis had his nose in a report he was preparing for an upcoming briefing and barely glanced into the monitoring room as he stepped past. He immediately did a double take and backtracked until he was standing outside of the door.  
  
All of the monitors that recorded the activity inside of Isolation, where Specimen V was kept, now only displayed blank grey. "What's going on here?" he barked as he entered the room.  
  
The guard on duty jumped to his feet. "Sir?"  
  
"What's happened to the damned surveillance cameras!?" he thundered.  
  
"They've been placed into a ten minute self-diagnostic, sir."  
  
"I gave no order for this. Who was the authorizing party?" Willis asked curtly as he crossed the room.  
  
"Doctor Romesco, sir. He presented the necessary clearance." The guard handed him the convincing paperwork that even had a passable forgery of Willis' own signature at the bottom, granting the procedure. The scientist looked at this with dawning realization and then turned to the console that monitored Specimen V's vitals.  
  
The readings were off the scale.  
  
"Shit!" he hissed under his breath and slammed his palm down on the emergency button. Immediately, clarions sounded off on all levels. Grabbing the nearby microphone, he said over the speakers; "This is Professor Willis! There's a security breach in Isolation! All Special Cadres and medical personnel assemble there at once!"  
  
Leaving the flustered guard behind, Willis bolted downstairs and joined the rest of the rush to the huge double-doors at Level Two. He wasn't assured to see that the Major and his staff assigned to the day rotation were assembled on this side of the room trying to get back in. Standing among them was Hector Romesco.  
  
Grabbing fistfuls of the younger man's coat, Willis slammed him up against the nearest wall. "You idiot! What have you done?"  
  
"He deserves it! He killed Felicia!" Hector yelled back. His eyes rolled with exhaustion, grief and temporary insanity. "I don't have any regrets!"  
  
"!!WHAT DID YOU DO?!!" Willis roared.  
  
The young doctor only continued his inconsolable babbling and Willis let him go with an expression of disgust. Hector slid strengthlessly down the wall and hugged his knees to his chest as his body was wracked by sobs. Ignoring him, Willis turned on the red-faced Major sliding his code-key uselessly back and forth in the security slot. "What's your excuse for leaving your post?"  
  
Swallowing, the Major admitted, "I don't have one, sir."  
  
"I'm going to have Commander Bedlam feed your body to the sharks," Willis promised him, oblivious of how foreboding the threat would turn out to be. There was no lie in his cold eyes and the officer felt his recent promotion go sailing out of the window with the threat. "What's the problem with the release sequence?" the Professor asked next. He shelved the deliberate security lapse for a later time when more proper and less rushed reparations could be made.  
  
"The sensors are reacting to a breach in containment, sir," the Major informed him.  
  
"Internal or external?" Willis queried, not liking the idea that the next room could be flooded with thousands of tons of frigid seawater.  
  
"I'm not getting any indications of an external rupture-"  
  
"Then open the damned doors, you idiot!"  
  
"Sir, there's something wrong with the interior servos. I may not be able to get them to cycle closed again once they're open."  
  
"!!NOW!!"  
  
Opening his mouth to begin the debate about proper over-ride procedures, the Major determined that he was no longer a sterling advocate of protocol and silently entered his personal sequence. By now, all of the staff had assembled and the soldiers held their weapons at the ready. The doors reluctantly accepted the code and began their laborious cycle to open. Before they had parted more than a crack, the first of the agonized wails penetrated the tension. Like fingernails on a blackboard, the deafening cries spiraled up almost into the ultrasonic. They would pause long enough for one quick intake of breath and then start again louder than ever.  
  
Willis charged in even before the Special forces soldiers were able to restrain him. The scene of chaos was far and beyond his worst expectations. The steel walls of Isolation were charred and pitted and even the careful welds holding the panels together were buckled in several areas. It almost appeared as if the chamber had been exposed to atrocious heat for a short duration. All features had been scrubbed clean from their surface, including the cameras positioned at each corner and trained in the center of the room. There, even the supposedly shatterproof cube was lying in pieces; reduced to dime-sized fragments like windshield glass on a highway. Lying amid the clutter was a pale white figure huddled into a tight, shuddering ball. Willis recognized him with complete bewilderment. "Specimen F?"  
  
"Ohhhhh, youlittlemonkey! Howcouldyoudothisto MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-" Frieza was screaming over and over.  
  
There was the mutter of a low sound, almost similar to a chuckle, and Willis turned to the far corner. Beside him, the soldiers released the safeties on their automatic weapons and trained them on their target.  
  
Huddled down into a defensive crouch, Vegeta distrustfully eyed the scientist as the man moved in for a closer look. The Saiyan appeared none the worse for wear for whatever the explosion that had razed the chamber. Only his face appeared marred, with a blistering burn on his left cheek and his lower jaw smeared with a dark purple liquid that appeared to be blood. With a snorting cough, he spat out a chunk of meat at the shocked scientist's feet.  
  
It took almost a minute for Willis to recognize the four-inch length of flesh he was looking at. He glanced at Frieza's howling form and back at the Saiyan and wisely moved away. He was cupping his own groin and trying not to be too obvious about the gesture.  
  
"Puts a whole new spin on the expression, 'Bite me', doesn't it?" Vegeta snarled with deadly seriousness.  
  
"HorridlittlemonkeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-" Frieza screeched. He managed to raise his head once before slumping back and gripping his severed, spouting limb with both hands. The lower part of his gown was bright purple and his tail flailed about crazily in his agony, smashing anything it came in contact with.  
  
Willis was on the verge of hyperventilating. Both aliens were free of their bonds and conscious. While he watched, the Saiyan was struggling to remove the padded restraints that still encircled his wrists and ankles. His movements were clumsy and uncoordinated from residual sedation. Somehow, with some Herculean effort, he had managed to actually pull them free from the metal brackets that they had been secured to. The terrified scientist motioned to the medical staff behind him to assist the injured alien.  
  
"Every-everything's going to be alright, Specimen V. C-calm down now," he intoned gravely, stepping aside to permit the guards to do their job.  
  
The instant the soldiers advanced, Willis saw a terrifying change come over the Saiyan male. He had been shaved shortly after he had been brought to Installation 15 and now his close-cropped black bristles assumed an odd blond twinge. His black eyes became twin emeralds of concentrated rage. With a roar of anger, his left hand shot out and released a blast of white-hot energy. At the contact, the soldiers did not so much burn as explode from the impact. The contrail of deadly ki traveled the length of the room and detonated against the wall, causing the steel to twist with a rebelling squeal of tortured metal.  
  
"I told you- My name is Vegeta! PRINCE OF ALL SAIYANS!" he bellowed and threw another volley at the resisting barrier.  
  
A different sound joined the general alarms. A small hole formed in the center of the blast crater etched into the wall and a trickle of water seeped from it. Almost immediately, the puncture became a widening crack and seawater began to flood into the chamber at an alarming rate. "External rupture in Sector Two, Isolation," a computer voice informed them. "Containment of Isolation now being implemented."  
  
"Clear this room," Willis ordered. "Everybody out or we'll be trapped in here!"  
  
No member of the staff was going to risk their own lives for a pair of aliens, intriguing though they were. Dropping their gear they sprinted for the exit, joining their comrades in the corridor as the first rivers of bloody water dribbled out after them. Anxious eyes watched the doors, waiting for the cycle that would effectively close them and save the rest of the Installation from a devastating flood.  
  
The doors didn't budge.  
  
"Containment of Isolation unsuccessful," the computer said pleasantly, as if they were all blind to the fact.  
  
Trying to avoid giving an 'I told you so' look, the Major tried unsuccessfully to enter various over-rides and get the barriers to close. The water was rushing out of the room in a greater flow as the fissure widened. Willis felt a foreboding pop in his ears as the pressure in the corridor began to compress. He went to a glass covered box mounted on the wall and shattered it with his elbow before pressing the button.  
  
"One minute to complete evacuation of Level Two," the computer voice suddenly boomed over the speakers. "Fifty-five seconds to complete evacuation of Level Two… fifty seconds to-"  
  
"Everyone upstairs now!" Willis commanded. He passed the cringing form of Hector Romesco and reluctantly hauled the weeping scientist to his feet. He half-pulled, half-carried the man to safety even though he didn't feel the bastard deserved it. When Commander Bedlam got through with him, Romesco was going to wish he had been left behind.  
  
The water was up to their ankles when Willis looked back at the smoking chamber of Isolation one last time. The reason for his entire life's work was being abandoned to its fate and he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for the loss.  
  
It didn't mean that he had to die for it, though. Without a second thought, he pounded up the stairs to the safety of Level One.  
  
  
  
Vegeta had greyed out with the second discharge. It wasn't until he felt the shock of ice water against his face, did he realize that he was now alone in the rapidly flooding room. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he ignored the floating pieces of soldiers he had killed and eyed the flooding crevasse with satisfaction. Beyond that twisted metal was freedom. It was all he could ever have hoped for.  
  
A gibbering, strangled curse filled his ears, barely audible above the deafening alarms and the roaring of water. He noticed Frieza's shuddering form and forced himself to his feet, managing to succeed on the second attempt. The numbing water was already to his knees and the metal was groaning from the diverse pressures. There wasn't much time before the chamber imploded but a morbid curiosity plagued him into investigating.  
  
Frieza was sitting up and the chill of the water must have helped him gain his senses. At least he had stopped screaming. "Vah-ghe-tah," he rasped hatefully. "You-UGH! You d-dare do this? You- I… I'll kill you!"  
  
His own face an impassive pale mask, Vegeta strayed too close and that repulsive pink tail wrapped around his ankle with crushing force. He didn't even notice, staring down into the face that had haunted his dreams for more years than he ever wanted to count. Here was a celestial boogey- man groveling at his feet; a planet slayer beyond reckoning. Vegeta's own personal demon in the flesh. He had felt a part of himself wither and die at the sight of his greatest terror remade in all of its hideous glory. The sensation was a holdover of the child who had been rendered helpless and forced to submit to the alien's perversions even as his indomitable pride contorted in agony. No more. At the first invading touch, his will had resurfaced and with that, followed the superhuman strength. The transformation to Super Saiyan had never been so fast or so primal. Vegeta had literally pounced on the first thing to catch his eye and, to Frieza's chagrin, his straining erection had been the sole target for the Saiyan's wrath.  
  
Even now, at the creature's mere touch, Vegeta could feel that power suffusing his pores in reaction. The Super Saiyan transformation had always been motivated by extreme emotions and what the Saiyan felt for his former tormentor eclipsed everything in comparison. "I've learned something from you that I never would have expected, Frieza," Vegeta confessed as he looked into the other alien's wild, enraged visage.  
  
"Treacherous, despicable little monkey," the ghastly alien sputtered. "What could YOU possibly learn?"  
  
"You taste like chicken," Vegeta sneered and spit on him in contempt.  
  
With a hard yank, the Saiyan pulled his leg free and stepped back as he powered up. He saw Frieza's eyes widen almost comically at the sight of the transformation (which would have been a whole lot more impressive if he still had his damned hair!) but didn't linger to provide an explanation. The walls around them were bowing noticeably and the seawater had reached his waist. It was now or never.  
  
"I'm condemning you to Hell," Vegeta growled, his eyes never leaving Frieza's as he gathered his ki. The water pulled away from him in a clear circle as that golden aura protectively cocooned his slight form. The Saiyan finally looked away to the wall and the spouting fissure before directing his cold gaze to the ceiling.  
  
Frieza wasn't going to Hell alone.  
  
  
  
Commander Bedlam was trying to calm his men on the Main level when the entire Installation buckled with what felt like an explosion. Scarcely before the computer could inform them that Level One had suffered a breach in containment, Vegeta plowed through the floor barely ten feet away from the shocked officer. Pausing in his retreat, Vegeta and the infuriated officer exchanged one chilling glare. The human's gaze contained only hatred and loathing, a desire for redemption for the Saiyan's past atrocities when he had first visited this world. For Vegeta, his gaze reflected his indignation over what he had endured in the present. There was a union of kindred spirits and similar wills in that brief glance but it was short-lived. Without a word, the Saiyan plowed through the ceiling of the Main level in pursuit of his freedom.  
  
One room away, Hector Romesco rose from the couch where Professor Willis had unceremoniously dumped him and now walked calmly to the window. He ignored the terrified screaming and the alarms and hardly felt the cold water start rushing around his legs. An odd peacefulness had suffused his being in spite of the anarchy beyond the room. He was actually smiling when the first crack appeared on the foot-thick glass before him. As he watched, the glass transformed into a spider web of minute, hairline breaks.  
  
"Felicia, my love… I'll be seeing you soon," he whispered and betrayed one shaky, grieving sob of relief.  
  
The window exploded a heartbeat later.  
  
It didn't take long for all three levels of the underwater facility to flood. Once the mass of water overpowered the pressure maintained in the structure, it crumpled in on itself like one immense beer can. An explosion of air, debris and bodies surged from various ruptures. Some items settled reluctantly to the bottom while others danced briefly in the black currents before being buoyed to the surface far above. Small shrimp and scavengers attacked the bodies and scraps of flesh they found, attracting larger fish to the unique buffet. Eventually, the sharks homed in on the party and by the time they were through, very little were left of the soldiers and staff of Installation 15.  
  
  
  
Exploding through the ocean's surface in a huge geyser of water, Vegeta burst into the blue sky with a howl of triumph. He spread his arms wide to the sunshine and released a rare bark of genuine laughter. "I made it! I'm free! I'm-"  
  
-and that's when his ki extinguished itself.  
  
There was no warning to the act. No telltale weakening of his aura. No internal precursor that should have alerted him that he had exhausted his reserves. One second he was blasting away from the water in a powerful vertical arc, the next his power simply turned off as if someone had flicked a switch. He was better than thirty feet in the air when this happened and now tumbled helplessly back down to the ocean. Only one startled thought had time to whip through his mind -This just isn't fucking FAIR!- before he slammed into the dark blue water.  
  
The bullet wounds on his back were only partially healed and the impact was excruciating. To make matters worse, the Saiyan's dense muscle mass immediately worked against him and started to pull him under. Floundering about more in blind urgency than logic, Vegeta struggled to keep his head above water but he knew he wouldn't be able to keep up this pace for very long. Spots of darkness hovered in the corners of his vision and his limbs were getting heavier with each kick and stroke. Inhaling a mouthful of salt water, he started coughing and only succeeded in swallowing more of the bitter liquid. He managed one more weakened kick and sank like a stone.  
  
…trunks… i'm sorry, he thought incoherently, surrendering to the pull of the black depths below, i never got to be a father… bulma… you and i-i…  
  
A gigantic air bubble buffeted him aside and bright scraps of material swept past him. The remains of the Installation had finally reached the surface and the debris was flowing all around him. More out of luck than accuracy, Vegeta managed to snag an object before it could get past him and allowed it to pull him back up. Breaking the surface, the Saiyan inhaled desperate lungfuls of precious air. He gripped the lifejacket he had caught in a hold that was almost a lover's embrace. It was an unknown length of time before he even registered that there was a body included with the offering.  
  
The soldier's mangled face didn't dawn on Vegeta's numbed senses. Under normal circumstances he might have recognized the person as being Tucker, the human he had taken hostage in his aborted escape attempt over a week (weeks? months?) ago. After that close call, Tucker had taken to wearing a lifevest under his uniform whenever he was on duty. He had even slept in it. Unfortunately, it had only succeeded in saving a lifeless corpse.  
  
Lacking the strength to unfasten the garment, Vegeta flipped the body over so that he didn't have to look at that face and held onto the life jacket with two panicked fists. Resting his cheek against the cushioned fabric, he fell into a dark faint allowing the ocean to take him and his odd raft wherever it dictated.  
  
  
  
It could have been only an hour or a full day when Vegeta finally roused to something poking his right shoulder. He gave one irritated shrug and tried to fall back asleep but that urgent tapping continued. "G'way, Nappa… " he grumbled, "don't wanna train t'day… 'm tired… "  
  
There was a loud squawk and something sharp dug into one of the wounds on his back. Vegeta released a startled shout, whirling to confront his attacker and lost hold of the jacket. The shock of the water roused the last of sleep from his dazed mind and he floundered back to the surface, coughing and sputtering. A seagull was sitting on the back of his floating corpse, watching as he grabbed onto the orange preserver with its small, black eyes. Vegeta's own blood was smeared at the point of its beak and the Saiyan lunged for it with an outraged curse. All he got was a handful of feathers for his efforts but the bird wisely took the hint and flew away. At first, the Saiyan was amazed how resourceful the earth creatures are to be able to fly so far from land, until it dawned on him:  
  
Perhaps land wasn't so far away.  
  
He tried to draw on his ki again but there was nothing but a vague ache in the back of his brain. It felt like a muscle that had been deadened by an attack and was loath to work again. With a grumbling sigh, he kicked the water and directed himself and his rotting prize in the direction that he had seen the bird fly. He kept his thoughts carefully neutral during this process, concentrating only on the effort and avoiding anything else. He was a pro at such single-minded pursuits and knew that he couldn't afford to be distracted by thoughts of Frieza (who was now probably being slowly digested in some sea creatures belly), his past tortures or even what he was going to do if-when he reached safety. He was only interested in obtaining that latter concern first.  
  
Despite his body's insistence to rest, the Saiyan kept swimming with that customary stubbornness that so categorized his personality. Life had offered him only two choices in his current plight; he could swim or he could die. After viewing a spectacular sunset of firestorm reds and oranges, the Saiyan kept kicking long after darkness enveloped him. He had no direct course to follow and was numb to the pull of the poles that might have helped his sense of direction. For all he knew, he was swimming in aimless circles and eventually ceased his efforts. Buoyed by the rhythmic flow of gentle waves, Vegeta directed his gaze skywards. Had he thought that he had felt loneliness when he had been stargazing on that dinosaur island? He hadn't even grasped the concept compared to how he felt this very moment. There was going to be no miraculous intervention to save his hide this time, he realized. He was going to die here. Whatever his past sins, he had paid them back in spades for all of this suffering. This was no deserving end for the Prince of all Saiyans. Hopefully, judgement would take that into consideration when he surrendered to the next dimension.  
  
"Father, I'm finally coming home," he said in a voice devoid of fear. The life jacket slipped from his aching fingers and the eager depths of the ocean quickly pulled him under before he could react.  
  
He didn't go far. Almost immediately, he embraced coarse sand and the expression on his face would have been comic at any other time. Settling his feet on the bottom, he stood up to his full height in water that reached his chest. Casting an incredulous gaze to the nearby shore, his eyes finally registered the vague outline of rocks and palm trees of an island. Kami knows how long he had been paddling around in this shallow inlet of the beach. It could have been for hours!  
  
Staggering to shore, he started chuckling to himself at the irony. The muted snickers eventually became loud braying laughter. By the time he made it ashore, he was practically screaming with the humor that was interlaced with shock and hysteria. He collapsed in the damp sand even before the last shout echoed over the small island, his body surrendering to its exhaustion. On his face was an expression of contentment and relief before he fell asleep.  
  
  
  
The rest of the night passed quietly and without any disruptions to the Saiyan's peaceful slumber. The sun had been in the sky for several hours before he finally began stirring in the welcome warmth. His entire body ached but the heaviness from the drugs appeared to have finally left his system. His mind was alert when he sat up and began considering his surroundings. He looked down at his palm and tried to form a small ki ball and almost instantly, a bright lance of pain pierced his skull. The harder he tried to focus his power, the worse the pain got. Finally, he abandoned the effort before his head exploded, or seemed about to. Something was desperately wrong, he understood that now. What the hell had the humans done to him?  
  
Further down the beach, he saw a flock of birds crowded around something and rose to investigate. Tucker's body had made it ashore and the crabs and birds were enjoying a decent breakfast. Vegeta waved the winged vermin away and considered the corpse for a moment and then looked down at himself. The soldiers uniform was tattered and ripped but it was a far cry from the hospital gown that the Saiyan had been forced to wear. Vegeta was sick of parading around bare-assed and decided to undress the human's stiff body. Tucker was seven inches taller and a good sixty pounds heavier and his clothes hung on the Saiyan's too-lean frame. The pants alone would have puddled around his ankles if he hadn't poked a new hole into the belt and cinched it tight around his waist. He even wore the combat boots, though they were two sizes too big. Once he donned the cap to protect his vulnerable scalp, the picture was complete. Dressed as he was in army fatigues, the entire troop of Z Fighters could have walked right by him and not recognized who he was.  
  
Vegeta wondered how long he was going to be stuck here until his power returned and decided to reconnoiter the area to check its potential resources. He was terribly hungry and if he didn't hunt something down, and soon, he was going to be feasting on Tucker a la king before the day was over. It wasn't a thought that held much appeal for him and got his legs moving.  
  
About a mile down shore he came across tracks that made the blood in his veins turn into shards of ice. There was a large furrow in the sand as if something had dragged itself from the water. Following that were curious three-toed tracks marching up the beach towards an outcrop of volcanic rock. Vegeta was shaking his head in dismay even as he followed the tracks, shaking his head in dread. "It can't be him. That's not possible. It can't be-"  
  
"!!MONKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!" Frieza leapt from the safety of the rocks, howling at the top of his lungs. He plowed into the startled Saiyan and the pair rolled head-over-heels in the sand before Vegeta managed to kick the alien away and scramble to his feet, backing quickly away.  
  
Facing him in a wary crouch, Frieza hadn't emerged unscathed from his escape of Installation 15. He had lost his gown sometime after Vegeta had escaped and his nude body plainly displayed the dark bruises and gashes of his ordeals. Factoring in the Saiyan's own little 'trim' job and Frieza looked like he was in a world of hurt. He was suffering terribly but he wasn't dead.  
  
Not yet, Vegeta vowed. He raised his hand palm-up in an instinctive gesture and called out; "Gallic Gun-" He gripped his head and fell to his knees with a wail of agony.  
  
Frieza's cold laughter barely penetrated the haze of pain around his thoughts. There was a tickle above his upper lip, and when he wiped his nose the back of his hand came away streaked in blood. He looked over at the gloating alien with only confusion in his dark eyes. "What…?"  
  
Chuckling, the pallid creature regarded him spitefully. "Do you like it?"  
  
Vegeta only stared at him.  
  
"My gift to you, Vegeta," Frieza grated in his raspy voice. "You think that the human's managed to subdue you with their primitive restraints and their watered-down drugs? You should have suspected something in your first escape attempt when your blast failed to penetrate the glass."  
  
"What did you do to me?!" Vegeta screamed at him.  
  
Gripping his mutilated flesh, Frieza dropped the false humor and regarded him with an expression of chilling hatred. "You've been exposed to a poison of my making, Saiyan. The human's, those trusting fools, thought it some extraterrestrial sedative. Can you believe it? It weakened you, that's all they cared about. But it's also been devouring the portion of your brain that houses your power. You've been exposed to it for almost three weeks now," he released a bitter laugh of amusement. "Longer than I could have ever dared hope."  
  
"I had my power. I was the Legendary Super Saiyan! You saw it!" Vegeta yelled at him.  
  
"Yes, I saw it," Frieza admitted but his face was still twisted in that gloating smirk. "I hadn't realized you'd managed the transformation. It's of no consequence. The adrenaline surge must have allowed the change but it didn't last, did it my little monkey? Where is your Legendary Super Saiyan power now?"  
  
Breathing heavily, Vegeta looked down at his hands in growing fear. He couldn't deny the ache in the back of his skull where he normally felt that responsive click of his ki. There was nothing for him to draw on. How on earth could he face off against Frieza without even the ability to fly? With an expression of utter hopelessness, he faced the cadaverous-looking alien with the first tendrils of fear worming itself into his gut.  
  
Pursing his lips like a man about to blow someone a kiss, Frieza purred, "I hope that my penis grows back soon. It appears we're going to be stranded here together for a very long time, my Prince."  
  
That did it. Power be damned, Vegeta launched himself at the smug creature and landed a series of blinding kicks and strikes. He still had his martial arts and his arcane speed and he attacked Frieza with every style he knew before thought had time to become purpose. One bent knee got past half formed defenses and broke a rib. An elbow whipped up and cracked Frieza's cheekbone. There was a satisfying explosion of expelled air when Vegeta forced both fists directly up into the aliens' vulnerable diaphragm. Throughout the frenzied combat the sallow creature presented little of a challenge. At first, Vegeta suspected the lack of participation was some sort of ruse; something to draw him in and exhaust himself before being attacked. It didn't happen. When the Saiyan pivoted on his heel and struck Frieza squarely in the face and knocked him over, he stayed down.  
  
"Why aren't you fighting?!" Vegeta screamed down at him. He kicked the grotesque alien squarely in the ribs and derived no satisfaction as the object of his rage only stirred weakly in the sand. He deserved this battle. There were scores to settle that only the two of them could rectify. Kakarrot was dead and there was no meddling son who could interfere this time. Frieza had stripped him of his world, his people, his title, his honor and now his very power. All that he had left were the remnants of his pride to sustain him. "You owe me that much, you bastard! Fight me!"  
  
"… I can't…" came the hoarse response.  
  
"I won't tolerate any more of your bullshit! GET UP!!" He grabbed a fistful of Frieza's clammy flesh and was unprepared when that skin sloughed off of the alien's breast bone with a moist sucking sound.  
  
Staring at what he was holding with an expression of surprise and disgust, Vegeta threw it away and wiped his hand on his thigh to rid himself of the feel of that decaying flesh. He forced himself to take a closer look at the alien lying in the sand. Frieza looked as if he had aged centuries since he had visited Vegeta in his cell. What had he said back then? Something important… There's still a way to go before I'm complete. I've been very cooperative with the humans to get what I want.  
  
"You-you have no ki," Vegeta realized.  
  
Sputtering on a mouthful of bile, Frieza spat out, "I have ki, I just cannot use it-"  
  
"-without causing your cells to degrade. How many times have you had to be cloned?"  
  
"You can't count that high, monkey," Frieza rasped with his usual patronizing manner.  
  
Kicking sand in his face, Vegeta stalked a short distance away. "You're not Frieza at all," he finally said in frustration. "You're just a piece of flesh that didn't have the sense to shrivel up in the desert before the humans found you."  
  
"As long as one strand of my DNA exists intact, I'll be resurrected to the Frieza who owned you, beloved chibi. The humans have other labs, other scientists. Tomorrow or a hundred years from now, someone will find my remains and the pattern will start all over again."  
  
"…no," Vegeta was shaking his head. Quite unexpectedly, he was thinking of little Trunks. What would the boy do if faced with the resurrected tyrant at some unseen point in the future? Was he going to turn his back now and surrender his only son to that unknown hell?  
  
Like his father had done to him?  
  
"No," he said in a stronger voice. He stamped back and stood over Frieza's dying form with his hands clenched into fists by his side. "You're not coming back ever again. It ends here and now."  
  
"What could you possibly do about it?" Frieza shot back, defiant to the end.  
  
Cupping his hands in front of him, Vegeta locked his wrists together and splayed the fingers as if he was gripping an imaginary ball. "I have a going away present I think you'd like to see," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. He began to concentrate on searching for whatever miniscule scrap of ki he could salvage amid the damage. The pain settled in almost immediately, galvanizing with its ferocity but he pressed on. His hands started glowing and Frieza's leering grin dropped in shock.  
  
"You-you can't do that! I won't allow it!"  
  
Blood flowed from Vegeta's nose in a flood and soaked the front of his newly acquired clothes. His bloodshot eyes wavered back and forth between black and green before settling on that piercing emerald regard. "No adrenaline surge is responsible for this," he snarled as the glowing ball in his hands increased in size. Tendrils of bluish static snapped at the air as the power-up continued until it reached critical mass. "It's just good old-fashioned hatred, Frieza. I'm giving you a one way ticket to Hell!"  
  
"You can't do this-"  
  
"!!FINAL FLASH!!"  
  
"-to MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"  
  
The compact ball of energy exploded from the Saiyan's trembling hands and hit the thrashing alien at point-blank range, incinerating most of him on the spot. Vegeta could have aborted his attack then and there and perhaps saved himself from serious damage but he wasn't taking any chances. Concentrating the blast into Frieza's charred remains, he punched down into the islands bedrock and through to the planet's mantle. Magma flowed up the path he had created and he barely had time to leap to safety when the first of the red hot lava spewed from the fissure, reaching a height of over ten feet before spreading outwards.  
  
There wasn't even a molecule of Frieza left over when the molten rock slowly oozed over the area. Vegeta used up the absolute last tendrils of his ki to enable him to get to safety before this new volcano engulfed him. He made it about a mile up the beach before collapsing face first into the sand.  
  
Struggling to get his breath back, Vegeta gripped his throbbing skull and started screaming from the excruciating pain. Blood continued to pour from his nose and he was unaware that he was shedding crimson tears in his agony. A tiny rivulet of blood trickled from his left ear and ran unnoticed down his cheek. Blackness mercifully closed in and his unconscious body made several weakened convulsions before it went still. The sand around his head darkened in a spreading pool of blood.  
  
The nearby palms rustled briefly with a sound that was almost a mourning sigh. A gentle gust of wind swept over the unresponsive form of the lone Saiyan with a gesture resembling a saddened caress. The souls of several hundred thousand murdered Saiyans had been vindicated by the battle and now were free to seek out the peace that had eluded them for so long a time. It was the greatest gift that the Prince of their once-proud race could have ever bestowed upon them. Vengeance. Redemption. Freedom. Surging skywards in triumph, several hundred thousand voices called out their sincere gratitude to the source of their affection.  
  
Long live the Prince.  
  
  
  
----------------------------------------------------------  
  
Chapter Six: Baby Trunks' health takes a turn for the worst. 


	6. Reality Check

Two Sides To A Story  
  
Chapter Six  
  
  
  
He was the last person that Bulma expected to be waiting for her that morning. Standing outside of the front entrance of Capsule Corporation, he was simply watching the staff arrive for the start of their day shift. Bulma almost hit him with the door as she slipped outside for her usual pre- work cigarette.  
  
She was in the process of lighting her smoke when she noticed him for the first time. The cigarette tumbled from her lips when she managed to get out a startled; "Vegeta?"  
  
Cocking his head to one side, the Saiyan offered her one of his slanted smiles and crossed his muscled arms, simply staring at her. It was as if he had never left so many months ago. He was wearing loose tan slacks and an open-throated dark blue shirt; his usual color scheme when he wasn't in his training uniform or armor. Bulma thought he had never looked so handsome as he did that very minute. "You… came back."  
  
"I didn't want to." He spoke in that gruff voice of his but the expression on his face was surprisingly neutral. "You tricked me and I'm still pissed about that but… I couldn't stay away any longer."  
  
Bulma was gaping at him until she yelped and dropped her lighter. She had still been holding it aflame and burned her thumb. Before she could put it in her mouth, Vegeta moved in beside her with that uncanny speed of his and took her wounded hand in his own, investigating the injury. "No harm done," he said softly and smiled at her.  
  
"Vegeta," she couldn't seem to believe that he was here. Running a curious hand through his thick hair she pressed herself against him urgently as if to prevent this apparition from leaving her. "There's so much to say! We have to have a long talk; About us, about Trunks. I want you to understand why I-I did what I- "  
  
"There's no time for that, Bulma," he said. The teasing expression on his face suddenly became serious. "Time is too short."  
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
Instead of answering, he bent his head and kissed her. At the contact, Bulma's eyes slipped closed with relief and her mouth opened with a soundless moan of pleasure. It had been too long for this and her body trembled with the desire that only this lone Saiyan could satiate. She deepened the kiss, her senses straining and was unprepared for the coppery taste that enfolded her inquiring tongue.  
  
Breaking off with a cough, she wiped her mouth and couldn't understand the amount of blood that streaked the back of her hand. "Vegeta… What?- " she looked up at him and stumbled backwards with a shrill scream.  
  
Vegeta was standing in place and calmly watching her reaction but his appearance had changed drastically. His immaculate clothes were gone in favor of a stained and ripped hospital gown. His skin was terribly pale, as if he hadn't seen the sunlight in months and there were dark bruises around his wrists and ankles. His face was the absolute worst. His cheeks had hollowed out from hunger and that arrogant glare she was so used to seeing was reduced to a pained squint. Something had hacked off his proud mane and reduced it to close-cropped stubble. It was as if she were confronting a total stranger.  
  
He looked down at his hands and slowly turned to look at his reflection in the front doors of the building. His shoulders sagged in disappointment. When he turned to look at her again, his nose had started bleeding. "I told you that time was short, Bulma," he said through a mouthful of blood. "I just came to say goodbye."  
  
Bulma screamed and covered her eyes from the terrible vision. Darkness enfolded her and she thrashed against it, shaking her head in denial and terror. Not Vegeta- That wasn't him! It couldn't have been!  
  
1 Vegeta-  
  
"!!BRAVO!!" a voice thundered beside her and she jumped about a foot off of her seat, opening her eyes with a gasp.  
  
Seated in a balcony that overlooked an affluent stage, Bulma sat trembling as the immense opera house around her erupted into applause and cheers. A trio of singers was stiffly bowing before the adulation until they disappeared behind the backdrop curtain. Beside her, her date was clapping enthusiastically and booming out his praise in a full-throated baritone that could probably be heard outside of the building. Shaking off the nightmare with difficulty, she finally became fully aware of her surroundings and the circumstances that had brought her here.  
  
"Arándano al Fruta has to be the absolute perfection of a tenor!" her date boasted. Bulma actually had to work hard to remember his name, oh yes; Phillip Mitchell Anderson the Third. "And his wife, Nueces Variadas, has mastered the theme of the intricate arpeggio in her-"  
  
"Is it over?" Bulma interrupted.  
  
Phillip frowned down at her. "It's only the intermission, Bulma. Didn't you… Were you asleep?"  
  
"No, of course not," she said, raising her hand and allowing him to pull her up and escort her downstairs to mingle with the rest of the guests. Phillip was about eleven years older than she was, the head of a plastic fabrication plant that Capsule Corporation often did business with. He was tall, well over six feet, and his short hair was steel colored at the temples. There was the inner tube of rich living around his midriff that not even the most expertly tailored suit could successfully hide. The third generation of a wealthy family, he was considerate in a distant way, completely out of touch with anyone who didn't have a net worth of several million zeni. He thought that exercise was a complete waste of time and an avid proponent of the Arts. In short, he was Vegeta's complete opposite; A match that Bulma would have thought to be ideal.  
  
She was actually bored near to tears by the man.  
  
Excusing herself, she made her way to the nearest washroom and moistened a towel, pressing it to her flushed cheeks. She went into the closest stall and sat on the closed lid of the toilet with her face in the towel, nursing the after-affects of her terrible dream. She could not recall anything even remotely that vivid except for the time that Vegeta had purposely linked his mind with hers, sharing that brutal memory of his childhood torture under Frieza. This vision had the same degree of detail and foreboding. She swore that she could still taste his blood in her mouth from the short-lived kiss.  
  
I told you that time was short, Bulma. I just came to say goodbye.  
  
A sob escaped her and she shook her head violently, scrubbing her face into the towel. "No… NO! It was a stupid dream from that damn boring opera, that's all. It didn't mean anything! It didn't!"  
  
There was the sound of the door opening, followed by laughter. Bulma submerged her inexplicable grief with effort as several women went to the counter to fix their make-up.  
  
"I was surprised that she gave up slumming with her usual circle of acquaintances to attend the opera this evening," one voice piped up.  
  
"Who?" another voice inquired.  
  
"Bulma Briefs, of course! I'm amazed that Phillip Anderson managed to drag her here. Then again, he's probably sniffing around for a juicy donation for his latest Arts project."  
  
"Perhaps he's the mysterious father of her bastard son that everyone's talking about," one woman asked in a sly voice. Trapped in the bathroom stall, Bulma had to bite down on the towel before she gave herself away.  
  
"That dandy? Not a chance! Bulma was always hanging around those queer-looking Fighters. Remember the Cell games broadcast? I'll bet it was one of those freaks. She probably gave them all a good luck screw before the fight."  
  
"I heard from my doorman that there's a Las Vegas betting pool that has odds the boy is Mr. Satan's love child," one tittered.  
  
"Hnh. I never even considered that-"  
  
Bulma kicked open the stall door and stormed out, fixing them all with a livid glare. She shouldn't have been surprised to recognize two of the three women; Nancy Peterson and Sally Masters, both malicious and vacuous bitches who had always been jealous of her own wealth. Memorizing the face of the third woman, she turned her back on them and walked out of the bathroom without a word.  
  
There was a moment of stunned silence before Nancy Peterson released a dry sniff of disdain and remarked, "That's new money for you; No class and even fewer manners. I hate to think what backwater welfare case fathered her boy. He'll never amount to anything."  
  
  
  
Letting herself in through the back entrance of the Headquarters building, Bulma was in no mood to face her parents or Chi Chi that evening. They had all been trying to get her to forget about Vegeta and move on with her life and she was sick and tired of the pressure. Her own mother had been responsible for the date with Mr. Boring the Third and she wasn't in the mood to elaborate on the evening. The fact that she was home before eight o-clock was evidence enough of how poorly it had turned out.  
  
She changed out of her evening dress into her more comfortable Capsule Corp. clothes and walked down the hall to the nursery. On her way, she passed Gohan's room and found the door partially ajar and peered inside. The boy was in the process of making his bed, which was odd considering the hour, but he had such a propensity for being neat that she immediately dismissed the sight. "Getting ready for bed so early?"  
  
Gohan jumped and turned in surprise. He had been a bundle of nerves ever since school had started five weeks ago. It hadn't helped that he was one grade behind. By all rights it should have been two, but Gohan had proven his smarts in an aptitude test prior to the fall semester; A test that had been insisted upon by Chi Chi to one very harried and intimidated principal. The boy had the opportunity to advance another grade by doubling his studies. Reluctantly, the Briefs had bowed to Chi Chi's request for a proper tutor to instruct the boy three nights a week. Bulma was privately against such overwhelming pressure on such a young child but had learned the hard way that any criticism was neither appreciated nor desired. When the brown-haired woman started throwing Bulma's wealth, high I.Q. and her 'hippie parents' at her, the heiress wisely backed off. Now five months pregnant, Chi Chi's emotional state had reached nearly elemental proportions. As with any fierce storm, it was best to shut up, hold tight and ride it out.  
  
"Oh, hiya Bulma," Gohan said. His voice cracked at the greeting and he winced a little then shrugged in his usual good humor.  
  
"Have you got all of your homework done?" Bulma asked as she stepped inside. Everything was as neat as a pin and there was even a change of clothes already laid out for the morning.  
  
"Yeah, that computer you gave me was a big help. My old one from home was okay but it didn't have the memory I needed. Too slow, I guess. How did your date go?"  
  
"It didn't. My date and your computer had a lot in common," she said dryly.  
  
"Oh," Gohan muttered. "Sorry it didn't go so well."  
  
She ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "It's alright. I swear that you're too tense for your own good! You need to learn to relax."  
  
The boy pulled away from her with an irritated scowl on his face and then sat dejectedly on the edge of the bed. "When am I supposed to do that? Between school and studying I don't have any free time. I haven't seen Piccolo or even Krillin for months. What I really want to do is some real sparring."  
  
"Your mother doesn't approve of you fighting, Gohan."  
  
"I know that! But I'm half-Saiyan, not human, and I like to fight. I've been doing it none-stop for over five years and now all of a sudden I have to go back to being this scholar? I don't know if I can do it anymore, Bulma." His voice broke again but this time it was from emotion and he ducked his head to hide his tears.  
  
Sitting beside him, Bulma put an arm around his shoulders and tried to pull him close. At first the boy resisted but eventually yielded to her gentle insistence and laid his head on her shoulder. "I'll tell you what: Why don't you slip away to go visit Piccolo on Saturday and I'll tell Chi Chi that you're-"  
  
Gohan was shaking his head. "I'm too strong for him now that I'm a Super Saiyan. I need to train with someone who's an actual challenge."  
  
Bulma's body tightened. She knew whom he was talking about. "Hon, Vegeta's made it clear that he wants to be left alone."  
  
"Don't you miss him?" Gohan asked her. "I know that you still think about him. It's been over four months since he left. Don't you want to know where he is?"  
  
Looking away from the boy's imploring eyes, Bulma thought about her earlier nightmare and had to betray a reluctant nod. "I know where he is," she admitted slowly.  
  
"You do?" Gohan's troubled eyes brightened.  
  
"And I guess that a visit is long overdue," she finished with a sigh.  
  
  
  
Early the next morning, Chi Chi went downstairs to visit Bulma in her office and ask how her date the night before turned out. For some reason the older woman seemed to be avoiding her and it was something that the brunette took very seriously. When Bulma's secretary saw her coming, she stopped filing her nails and tried to look busy in front of the computer. "Ms. Briefs has stepped out of her office for the moment, Ms. Son," she instructed even before the other woman had opened her mouth.  
  
"That's fine, I'll wait," Chi Chi said determinedly.  
  
The thought of the high-strung female sitting only six feet away from her was not one that the secretary needed for her Friday morning. "You can go right inside and wait there, if you'd like," she offered and got up to open the door. "Can I get you a coffee?"  
  
"Caffeine is bad for the baby," Chi Chi snapped, protectively cradling the gentle curve of her stomach. "Water will do just fine."  
  
"I'll get that right away, Ms. Son," the girl said and hurried down the corridor to the breakroom.  
  
Watching her leave, Chi Chi stepped into the pandemonium that was Bulma's main office. For all of the various labs and labyrinth of rooms that made up the lower half of Capsule Corporation, it was amazing how much junk was piled up on the floor and available desk space in this medium- sized room. Even the walls were filled with cluttered bulletin boards, posters and framed items. While she waited, Chi Chi took the opportunity to look over some of the articles on display.  
  
Dominating one wall was a large framed blueprint of some sort of communications module that appeared to have been drawn freehand. On another hung an old tabloid cover featuring an actress that Chi Chi didn't recognize. The bold print beneath the woman's picture read: 'Actress Attacked by Alien'. Shaking her head in confusion, the brunette glanced over the various Capsule Corp. posters and then regarded the framed credentials that Bulma had arranged behind her desk. Chi Chi had never realized how many degrees the sea-foam haired beauty had effortlessly garnered; engineering, physics, architecture, mathematics-  
  
"Huh," Chi Chi snorted, sitting in the chair behind the desk. "Her father probably bought them for her."  
  
Sitting on the desk were research projects awaiting approval, transcripts of past meetings and general paperwork. None of it held any interest to the woman as her sharp eyes never ceased in their roaming. A picture of Trunks was propped up on the corner of the desk, the baby's smiling face full of innocent happiness and trust. Another was lying face down and Chi Chi picked it up, her face immediately darkening with recognition. She almost slammed it back down but forced herself to examine it more closely.  
  
It was a picture of Vegeta but not one that she would have expected of the brash Saiyan. He was sitting on a balcony railing but Chi Chi didn't think that it was at Capsule Corporation. The exposed portion of the building that his back was resting against was elegant brick, not the garish yellow of the Headquarters building. He was actually out of his precious armor and barefoot, wearing a pair of sweatpants and an unbuttoned red shirt. He was staring at the camera with an expression that was a far cry from his usual surliness; there was actually a wry smile on his calm features. (Bulma had taken the picture when the pair had been at the Hammorski Plaza and the camera had been the only thing she had been wearing at the time to get the rare photo.) Unaware of this, perhaps blissfully, Chi Chi examined the picture far longer then even she would have credited herself for. This was her nemesis? This was the alien she had pledged revenge on for disrupting her family? Vegeta looked as normal as anyone in that photograph. Certainly not the conceited megalomaniac with the hair- trigger temper that bordered on total lunacy she fancied him as being. He looked-  
  
Dear Dende, she thought with disbelief, he-he looks like a man in love! How is that possible?  
  
Returning the framed image back to its previous resting-place, Chi Chi resumed her investigating. Two drawers were locked but in the left bottom drawer she found on old sandwich in a plastic container that had turned opaque with mold. In the right one were some textbooks. The titles were confusing for the countrywoman and she wondered if Bulma was cramming for another degree to add to her collection; Pathology of Chronic Stress; Child Abuse: A Psychological Interpretation; Depression and Suicidology. Intrigued, Chi Chi picked up the first book and leafed through it curiously. Bulma had used her highlighter in some sections, ignoring others. One page was dog-eared with a highlighted exclamation mark etched in beside one paragraph;  
  
'Narcissistic personality disorder- Individuals plagued with this anti- social pathology often have an exaggerated sense of self-importance with a tendency to use denial and devaluation in order to maintain an inflated ego. This can border on a sociopathic personality trait devastating to a family dynamic. Often these troubled individuals were subjected to a harsh childhood where abuse was rampant and severe discipline often resulted in injury and-'  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Jumping about a foot out of the chair, Chi Chi snapped the book closed and dropped it back into the drawer. "I'm sorry, Bulma. I got bored waiting so I-I-"  
  
"-Decided to snoop around my desk?" Bulma asked as she walked into the room. She was carrying a bottle of water that her secretary had passed to her and handed it over to the other woman.  
  
"Well, two of the drawers weren't locked," Chi Chi said lamely, taking a sip.  
  
Casting a quick glance around, Bulma decided that no harm was done and pulled on her coat, dismissing the invasion of privacy. She needed a favor and wasn't about to jeopardize her relationship with the woman over a little harmless looking around. "I'm slipping out for the day, will you keep an eye on Trunks?"  
  
"Absolutely. Where are you going?" Chi Chi asked as they left the office.  
  
"If you must know, I'm going to visit Vegeta," Bulma confessed reluctantly. She braced herself for the barrage of accusations and insults that would inevitably follow the admission.  
  
They didn't come. Instead, the brunette asked almost conversationally, "Do you know where he is?"  
  
Rifling through the papers that she had just picked up from the accounting department, Bulma nodded slowly as she read the latest information. "He's been using a Capsule Corporation expense card. At the moment, he's staying at a hotel on Haven Island. It's a tourist resort about four hours away from here."  
  
"Vegeta the tourist," Chi Chi huffed. "I don't know how you can just let him gallivant around the planet like some care-free playboy when he clearly has obligations to his son. It's utterly deplorable!"  
  
Bulma bit her tongue and waited until they were outside of the building and away from curious staff who always enjoyed some juicy gossip. Once free from prying eyes, she whirled and pointed a finger directly in the other woman's face. "Chi Chi, the only person who has any bitching rights where Vegeta is concerned is me. Got it?"  
  
"I'm just stating a fact!"  
  
"Fine. State them to yourself because I don't want to hear any more of it. You don't know anything about our relationship-"  
  
"-A relationship? Is THAT what you call it?" Chi Chi cried indignantly.  
  
"Like I told Yamcha before; Vegeta is off-limits. I'm not going to put up with any more trash talking about him from you or anyone else. Whatever resentments you still have against him, just let them go." Boldly turning her back on her friend, Bulma selected a capsule from a packet and depressed the trigger, expertly throwing it a safe distance away. In a cloud of smoke, her favorite hoverjet materialized as if it had been sitting there the entire time.  
  
"Why do you always come in defense of that awful man?" Chi Chi called after her determined, as ever, to get in the last word.  
  
Climbing into the cockpit, Bulma shouted back, "Because I'm the only one who will!" She slammed the door shut before the other woman could edge in a retort and initiated lift-off.  
  
  
  
The four-hour flight was perhaps the worst part of the entire journey to Haven. As much as Bulma would have enjoyed seeing father and son reunited at long last, she had elected to leave Trunks behind. It wasn't out of fear of Vegeta's reaction to the forced union but a concern for the boy's present health. He still wasn't sleeping soundly through the night and now his appetite had become alarmingly peckish. He had lost half a pound at his pediatric check-up last week and Bulma was beginning to feel the first threads of worry even as her doctor tried to reassure her that everything appeared fine. How would an earth physician know what was wrong with the child? For that matter, how could any of them? Gokou had been entirely ignorant of his alien heritage until Radditz's arrival, and now they were both dead. That left only Vegeta as the sole remaining Saiyan who could shed some much-needed insight into their unique physiology. Even that knowledge would be severely lacking on the Prince's part, though not at all through fault of his own. He had been taken from his world and people at the age of eight, uprooted from his culture and the dictations of his heritage that he should have experienced firsthand. It was unknown how much outside of fighting, screwing and survival that Nappa and Radditz would have been able to teach him. Alternatively, if they had even bothered in the effort.  
  
Bulma had so many questions eating away at her, the volume growing exponentially the longer they were apart. In the silence and loneliness of the cockpit, her brilliant mind turned in on itself and became her own worst enemy. She began rehearsing speeches for when she would finally came face to face with the Saiyan. "Vegeta, don't you dare slam the door in my face. We have to talk- No, that'll just piss him off more, he'll think I'm trying to be bossy. Hmmm… Maybe if I just hike up my skirt and say, 'Take me now, you magnificent stallion!'" She broke off into nervous laughter and was astounded how close to tears she actually was. She wasn't surprised to be feeling fear at the looming meeting and a great deal of tension.  
  
And there was also guilt. Quite a lot of it.  
  
No Saiyan woman survived Vegetasei's destruction. My line ends here, with me. I've made my peace long ago that I'm the last son of the House of Vegeta.  
  
Both of Bulma's arms burst into ominous gooseflesh at the memory of Vegeta's admittance to her not so very long ago. He had confided in her as a trusted friend, telling her his regrets that he was the last of his line. He had said there was no way that he would willingly father a- how had he put it? –a 'mongrel' child with polluted blood. Bulma had sat by him listening to him bare his soul to her, having already thrown her oral contraceptives into the trash. She would have probably gone after them that night if he hadn't continued his confessions. By the time the tale was over, her desire to have his child cemented itself in her resolve to see that it got done. She still had no regrets but she had to sway him over to her reasoning and it wasn't going to be easy. The words he had spoken to her in June as he had left Capsule Corporation had been awful, but she didn't dwell on them for very long. She had others to remind her of his true feelings…  
  
I know that I speak without thinking. To be honest, I doubt that will ever change. But you'll never be hurt by my hand, Bulma. I can assure you of that at least.  
  
He had confided that admission to her when his heart had been lulled by her comfort and love and she knew intimately that he had spoken the truth that night. The scene at the Headquarters had been only created out of hurt for her deception, lingering grief from the Cell Games and dangerous self-loathing at his own failure. He had cared about the teenaged Trunks of the future and they had only been together a short time. Bulma was certain that Vegeta would focus that now-misplaced affection on his infant son, if offered the opportunity. Of the two of them, Bulma would have to shelve her indignant resentment and make the first move or it would never happen.  
  
Bulma finally knew what she would say when she met with him, "Vegeta, it doesn't matter if you and I are through. I can accept that, if it's truly what you want. I just want Trunks to know his father."  
  
Yes, that would work, though her heart would pain with the loss.  
  
  
  
A quick inquiry at the front desk (and a hundred-zeni bill as an added incentive) led Bulma to a charming oceanfront cottage that was set apart from the main Haven resort. It had it's own private beach and a lush assortment of tropical plants that gave the small area a sense of privacy that the Saiyan would enjoy. As Bulma rounded the pathway that led around to the front of the elegant building, she didn't expect company to be waiting for her.  
  
A pair of statuesque blondes were sunbathing on lounge chairs, both topless and extremely well-endowed. Bulma knew that Vegeta was a breast man but even the sight of those boobs intimated the heiress who was no slouch in the chest department herself.  
  
One of the women noticed her for the first time and raised her sunglasses, making no effort to cover her nudity. "Hey! Are you the masseuse we called for earlier? You're late!"  
  
Grappling with her temper, Bulma managed to get out through tense lips, "I'm looking for Vegeta. Is he here?"  
  
Concluding that she wasn't whom they had been expecting, the woman returned to her previous position on the lounge. "Veggie's inside with Monique. You can join in, if you like threesomes. He sure does!" She giggled knowingly and her companion only groaned in agreement.  
  
Without another word, Bulma walked into the open doorway of the cottage and cast a quick glance around. It looked as if a wild party had been held the night before, empty bottles were sitting in every available space and the living room was in complete disarray. She began to feel the first stirrings of doubt when she saw the smeared lines of cocaine on the coffee table. "…Vegeta?"  
  
Drunken laughter reached her ears and Bulma boldly walked into the bedroom. Lying in the tangle of sheets, a redhead was screaming her encouragement to whoever was underneath of the blanket between her splayed legs and noisily slurping away. Her voice had reached a pitch that could have shattered glass and her sweaty, excited features turned to notice Bulma at long last. "Shed the clothes and join in," she panted cheerfully. "The more the merrier!"  
  
"!!VEGETA!!" Bulma shrieked.  
  
All activity beneath the twisted sheets stopped. "Who's that?" an unfamiliar voice called out.  
  
It was all becoming so damned clear! Bulma resisted the urge to storm over and pull off the covers but she really didn't want to get any closer than necessary. "The real owner of the card you've been partying with, jackass. Show yourself right now."  
  
It was a long moment before a head poked out and reluctantly looked at her, his nose and chin shiny. "So… uh, I guess the fun's over, right?" an Asian teenager concluded in a sad voice.  
  
  
  
Three and a half months… oh dear Dende, three and a half months!!  
  
Bulma was a nervous wreck when she played the time period over and over in her mind. Three and a half months from the day that Vegeta had thrown his Capsule Corporation expense card into the trash outside of the Gilded Osprey, only to have it picked up by a street punk of the name of Tetsuo Chu. The little Asian had thought he had won the lottery and no one had been the wiser for the deception. Not even Bulma herself. She thought she'd had an ingenious way of keeping track of the Saiyan without being obtrusive. None of the expenses had been out of the ordinary; small cash advances, the odd restaurant and hotels. All things she would have expected Vegeta to have used the card for himself. If Chu had made some extraordinary purchases, like a hovercar or personal jet, it would have raised the flag a lot earlier. But damned if the little bastard hadn't had the wits to be frugal.  
  
Bulma turned him over to the Island authorities for credit card fraud and then sped a direct course North to the city of Prescott, the last place that Vegeta had been-  
  
-over three and a half months ago! She couldn't successfully shake that. She went to the main library and looked up the microfilms of the various papers that had been printed around the days that Vegeta had eaten at the restaurant. She didn't know what she was looking for but kept reading nonetheless. There was some letter to the Editor about a scene at a local McDonalds that she skimmed over. What caught her eye was a half-page spread detailing an explosion that had happened at some seedy hotel less than ten blocks away.  
  
"Yeah, he was here," the man behind the cage of the check-in counter said. He handed back the photo of Vegeta that Bulma had slid over to him. He picked up the logbook and showed her the entry and she saw the alien symbol that was the Saiyan's name. She had to restrain her fingers from caressing the signature.  
  
Looking around the dilapidated surroundings of 'Hal's Happy Hump Hotel' Bulma was trying to fathom the logic of Vegeta's choice to come here, of all places. "Was… was he with anyone?"  
  
"Naw. He went to his room alone. Looked tired."  
  
Pride then, not sex. His financial resources would have been limited and he had simply needed a cheap place to rest his head for the night. Her guilt began to grow… "I read about an explosion that happened the night he was here. What happened?"  
  
"You a cop?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Ex-wife?"  
  
She had to betray a hurt smile at that. "No, we were… never married. I'm just trying to find him, for our son's sake."  
  
Nodding to himself, the younger man visibly debated whether to talk to her and then shrugged to himself. It was a slow day and he had a great view of her cleavage from his higher vantagepoint. Leaning on the counter he said, "It was a crazy night. I could hear him yelling at Bonnie and Clyde to keep the noise down, all the way from here-"  
  
"Bonnie and Clyde?"  
  
"Pair of crack-heads who had holed themselves up for a couple of nights. I dunno their real names. Turned out they were responsible for a bunch of robberies and one murder and were lying low from the heat. How was I to know? I gave your boyfriend the room next door."  
  
"He attacked them," Bulma muttered.  
  
"Nope, I don't think that's how it went down," the man surprised her by saying. "Clyde shot through the wall first and then he must have detonated some damn bomb or something. Asshole blew the room up as well as himself, no loss there. His crazy bitch girlfriend attacked your man next and nailed him with a bag of smack."  
  
"Smack?" Bulma echoed dumbly. This was all sounding like some terrible nightmare.  
  
"Heroin. He fell out of the hole the explosion made. The cops looked for a body but never found one. I guess it don't look too good that you haven't seen him yet, huh?"  
  
"No," she whispered, "It sure doesn't."  
  
The man grunted and then stepped away from the cage and left her line of sight for a moment. She still hadn't moved when he came back several minutes later, sliding a capsule through the slot in the wire mesh. "Not to be morbid or nothing, but I guess you're as close to the next of kin as I'm ever going to meet. You might as well take this, I've been keeping it in the safe in case… y'know, he ever comes back."  
  
Staring at the capsule that contained all of Vegeta's possessions, Bulma felt the panic within her stomach start to spread. No money, no belongings, no word from him in over three months. She wasn't sure if she was able to get out an understandable thank-you to the clerk but she managed to gurgle out something before she turned and ran out of the hotel.  
  
The younger man watched her go with eyes that had witnessed more grief pass through that door than a man twice his age. He should have mentioned the odd spikes of hair that the police had found in her boyfriends damaged room. It was probably just as well that he hadn't. She looked distraught enough as it was and would have probably asked for them as a souvenir. Hal, the manager, had thrown them in the trash, disliking the odd consistency of the hair that hadn't been caused by an overdose on the gel. One of the hairs had actually pierced his skin like a damned needle, it was so stiff. No, Hal wasn't keeping around any more weird shit then he had to.  
  
Outside, Bulma stood on the bottom step of the Hotel entrance and hugged herself as if she had developed a chill. A group of teenagers were lounging around an old car sitting on its rims and began whistling and catcalling to her. She didn't even hear them as she struggled with her grief and fear.  
  
I told you that time was short, Bulma. I just came to say goodbye.  
  
"Oh god, Vegeta… What's happened to you?" she whispered, wiping away tears with trembling fingers. "I wish I'd never told you to leave. I'd take it all back if I could. I'm so sorry- " She was certain that she would fall apart into a million unsalvageable pieces if she had to cope with just one more hint of bad news.  
  
That was when her cellphone began to ring.  
  
  
  
She had left the Western Capital at nine o'clock that morning and was back before supper. By the time Bulma showed up at the hospital, it looked as if she had aged years. Chi Chi and Gohan were there waiting for her, as were her parents. All four people took one glance at her near-hysterical features and shelved the questions until she appeared more rational.  
  
"Where's my baby?" she wailed the instant she stepped outside of the elevator onto the Pediatric floor. "What have you done with my baby?!"  
  
Friends and family were there, wordlessly guiding her to the Intensive Care ward. She barely noticed them at first and almost fought their gentle grips until it dawned on her that they were only trying to help. Her vision warped by a blanket of bitter tears, she barely registered the sight that greeted her when they led her to the one-way glass. In the next room, a tiny lavender-haired bundle was the center of a commotion of activity. Trunks' little pale form was hooked up to tubes and electrodes and was currently being hooked up to life support to assist his breathing. The doctor and nurses overseeing his care were wearing sterile masks and gowns, taking care not to risk any exposure to infection. One nurse inserted a needle into a tiny vein and Bulma saw his little hand flex in pain at the contact. She swore she could hear a wail of agony and confusion inside of her mind.  
  
"!!TRUNKS!!" She pounded on the glass until Chi Chi and her father tried to pull her away. Fighting them like a banshee, she almost broke free and jeopardized the quarantine of the room when she sprinted for the door. Hospital staff intervened over her parent's objections and there was the sharp sting of a needle in her arm. The faces and surroundings around her broke up into meaningless shapes and the sounds became inconsequential but for Trunks' terrified wailing in her brain.  
  
  
  
"What happened?" She was able to rasp out later when the sedation had passed. She had been given a private room to rest in and now sat on the edge of the bed, her rheumy eyes tracking back and forth between her mother and Chi Chi. "I asked you a question; What happened to Trunks?"  
  
"He was fine at breakfast," the brunette spoke up. As usual, Mrs. Briefs was too inconsolable to provide any kind of a rational explanation in her state. "But a few hours later, he started throwing up. At first, I didn't think anything was wrong but he just wouldn't stop. Your mother called an ambulance when he went into a seizure. He's burning up with fever and the doctor's don't know how to bring it down. It came on so fast, Bulma! I swear he was fine this morning!" Normally the pillar of composure and strength, Chi Chi dissolved into a fit of helpless tears. She wasn't able to rein them in until Bulma whispered an odd word under her breath.  
  
"V'Nhar."  
  
Pausing in mid-sob, Chi Chi looked up in confusion. Close beside her, Gohan asked delicately. "What's that, Bulma?"  
  
"It's a Saiya-jin illness caused by not eating enough," Bulma said through numb lips. "Trunks has been off of his food for days. Intravenous replacement fluids won't help, he needs proper nourishment."  
  
Dr. Briefs and his wife seemed to be nodding with understanding, as if they had encountered this problem before. Chi Chi regarded them with suspicion, she was never a woman who liked being left out of the loop. "What on earth are you talking about, Bulma? How do you know so much about this?"  
  
"Vegeta has had it before. It might even be hereditary." She eased herself down onto the floor and held onto the bed until the rubbery sensation in her legs passed. "I have to get the doctor's to give Trunks solid food. That's what he needs to get better."  
  
"What about Vegeta?" Gohan piped up. "Did you find him?"  
  
A wounded sob escaped Bulma's throat. She gave an enigmatic tilt of her head that was a bewildered cross between a shake and a nod but didn't offer anything more. She honestly didn't know where to begin until Chi Chi released a disgusted snort and made the mistake of remarking; "I knew it. He turned his back on you, didn't he? That arrogant, selfish, mean-spirited little man. He doesn't care about you or your son, that's why he left in the first pl-"  
  
With a cat-like hiss, Bulma was on her before the other woman could finish. The heiress was no fighter but in an instant she grabbed the lapels of Chi Chi's dress and forced her up against the wall. "Vegeta's disappeared!" Bulma yelled directly into her face. "He went missing over three months ago! A damned thief has been using his card this entire time. I'm the one who told Vegeta to leave Capsule Corporation and now he's never coming back!" She released the other woman, her face contorted into a mask of rage and terror. "Because he's dead," she said at last. The tears were held at bay by the force of sheer will alone. "I'm pretty sure that he's dead. And it's all my fault."  
  
  
  
Despite the persistence of her friends and family, Bulma would offer no more of an explanation for her outburst. She was cruising on autopilot now, fixated on only one goal to help her through the present crisis before she could even begin to consider any others. She told the doctors as much as she dared without exposing the family's extraterrestrial connections. The staff regarded her histrionics with only wariness until her father repeated the request in that affable, quiet manner of his. Finally, they relented and removed the baby's breathing tube long enough to force-feed him some much needed protein. Trunks promptly threw it back up and went into convulsions.  
  
The next day he slipped into a coma.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------  
  
Chapter Seven: The vigil continues… Will a cure arrive in time? 


	7. Blood Ties

Two Sides To A Story  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
  
  
Bad news travels fast, Piccolo reflected with a sigh.  
  
Various television news teams and paparazzi had collected outside of the hospital entrance the morning after Trunks had been admitted. By the second day, the health of the Capsule Corporation heir had made the top news story on all of the networks. Sitting in the lobby as a captive audience, Bulma and her friends had watched the ZTV news anchor make his commentary;  
  
"-Origins of the illness are unknown. Sources at the hospital say that the ten-month-old child has lapsed into a coma and is dependent on life support to maintain his precarious state. All attempts to contact the Briefs family for an interview have been postponed as the family continues its grim vigil. Thus far, there is little hope for a cure as-"  
  
Bulma didn't hear the rest as she ran out of the waiting area, her slight form wracked by fresh sobs.  
  
The entire collection of Fighters had appeared by the morning of the forth day. Even Tien and Chiaotzu had left their self-imposed isolation to try and lend some comfort to their friend. Actually daring to challenge his mother's rage, Gohan skipped school to seek out Piccolo, who had made his home at Dende's Look-Out. Along the way, the boy made a stop at Korin's to ask about the current crop of senzu beans. The aged cat gravely informed him that it appeared there was going to be a poor harvest of the mystical healing pods this season. Maybe three seeds would reach maturity, perhaps even less, and it wasn't going to happen for another four months.  
  
Discouraged but still hopeful, Gohan approached Dende and asked if the Namek could come back with him and heal Trunks with his arcane recuperative abilities. The young alien could only shake his head. When he had donned the mantle of Earth's Guardian, he had sworn to an oath that forbade him from ever setting foot upon the mortal plane. Trunks had to be brought to him. An impossibility, given the child's present state.  
  
Piccolo accompanied Gohan on the return flight to the hospital. The deterioration of events since the Cell games came as quite a shock to him as well as something else;  
  
"Vegeta's dead?" he thundered in disbelief. "Who the hell told you that?!"  
  
Setting the pace in their course back to the Western Capital, Gohan cruised along side of his friend and mentor, frowning with worry. "Bulma said it the night we brought Trunks to the hospital. She left Capsule Corp. to go looking for him that morning. I guess Vegeta had a credit card or something but it turned out someone had stolen it three months ago and has been using it in his place."  
  
"And there's been no word from him since? Not a sign?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Damn it," the Namek cursed. It wasn't in the Saiyan's nature to lay low and not call attention to himself without at least one of them catching a sense of his whereabouts. This lapse was alarming. "What makes Bulma think he's dead?"  
  
"She doesn't want to talk about it. I heard her tell mom that she had some sort of dream about him. She said that he came to say good-bye..."  
  
Piccolo's verdant features tightened as he absorbed this information. None of it was good. Saiyan's were a telepathic breed that formed powerful emotional bonds with people that they cared about. He had witnessed first- hand the intimacy between the surly prince and Bulma; there was little doubt in his own mind that the pair had made some manner of mental connection. The normally levelheaded woman would not have betrayed such an admission-  
  
-if it weren't true.  
  
"Rubbish," he concluded, only because it eased his mind to deny it. He and Vegeta had clashed in the past, trading both words and blows in conflicts that had spilled mutual blood. Unfortunately, Piccolo couldn't deny the part of him that recognized the circumstances of past ambitions that made them reluctant kindred spirits. Gohan was the most dominant presence in his once-black heart. After that, Dende represented the much- needed tie to his own people. Amazingly, it was Vegeta who was next on the list. Piccolo had battled too often with Gokou for all past resentments to be successfully laid to rest. That and the fact that the young fighter seemed to spend more time dead or absent than the alien cared to count. The Namek had fought both against Vegeta and alongside him, noting the change in the Saiyan's demeanor each time they met. It was an evolution in ethics and attitude that he shared. He would never call Vegeta a friend, but he was no longer an enemy either. The ambiguity would have to suffice. For now.  
  
"When this crisis is over I'll go look for him," Piccolo told the young boy to comfort him.  
  
Gohan didn't appear to be swayed. "Maybe you should go do that now. I know it's a longshot but Vegeta might be the only one who can help Trunks. Bulma thinks that the illness might be related."  
  
"She mentioned the V'Nhar?"  
  
Gohan did an astonished double take. "You know about it too? When did this happen?"  
  
"Remember two years ago when Dr. Briefs assembled the Z Fighters to look for Vegeta? He was suffering from it then. Bulma took him to a hotel and nursed him back to health."  
  
"How… how bad off was he?"  
  
"He almost died." And I almost killed him, Piccolo came close to admitting and bit down on the words. He didn't allow himself to dwell on that past confrontation very often and certainly wasn't about to betray the circumstances now. Some battles were never meant to be told. "You might be right about looking for him. Let's just see how the boy is first before we make any rash decisions."  
  
As things turned out, Trunks was no better when they met up with the others. The little hybrid child seemed to have lapsed into some sort of stasis as his body fed on itself. His baby fat was being absorbed by his immature ki in a desperate attempt for the cells to find nourishment. At this rate, he wasn't going to survive to the end of the week. Piccolo took note of this with his usual stoic resolve and quickly left the hospital to begin his search for Vegeta.  
  
Throughout all of this, Bulma barely registered the comings and goings of family and friends as she struggled with her grief. Her mother was coping with the crisis by acting as an informal caterer. Nobody felt much like eating, but other patients and hospital staff took the opportunity to avail themselves of the mounds of food the woman brought. Anything beat cafeteria food, after all.  
  
Yamcha was never far from the heiress' side but his concern was often distracted by the persistent calls on his cellphone. He had left his baseball team while they were in the playoffs and his manager was brilliantly pissed. Joining in that displaced resentment was Yamcha's present girlfriend and, often, the fighter had to hold the phone from his ear during one of her rants. He had met Janice two weeks ago when she had asked him to autograph both of her breasts after a game. They had been inseparable up until the call from Krillin when he was told what had happened to Trunks. He had left with barely a word, his usual fashion when dealing with the opposite sex. It wasn't done out of any conscious maliciousness on his part and he wasn't even aware of the habit. A man of action, Yamcha immediately shelved all routine concerns the instant a crisis presented itself. The fact that this particular emergency affected him personally was another reason for his brash haste. All that Janice knew was that he had left her for an ex-girlfriend, who had a child nobody knew who was the father to. Needless to say, she kept the number to Yamcha's cellphone on her speed dial within easy reach.  
  
On the other side of the waiting room, Krillin paced around in aimless figure eight's. He would have liked Android 18 to be with him during this emergency but the female was still wary of gatherings. Some of the programming that identified the rest of the Fighters as 'prey' still lingered in her sub-conscious. Logically, she didn't want to risk a conflict in such delicate surroundings. Master Roshi was nearby with Oolong. At the moment, the pair were arguing over who was going to get possession of the skin magazine the old man had smuggled in from the gift- shop.  
  
Ignoring all of them, Chi Chi sat back in one overstuffed lounge chair and watched the flow of people coming and going near the elevators. One young couple were approaching the nurses station, their faces pale, arms entwined. A doctor came towards them and words were exchanged. The woman released a wail of dismay and had to be carried to a private room by her husband. Exiting from the elevator, several teenagers were holding helium balloons and wrestling with one enormous stuffed bear. A young man in military fatigues sidestepped them and went down the hall towards the bathroom. Behind him, an elderly man was squinting at something written on a wrinkled piece of paper and then began the frustrating search for a specific room.  
  
Loss, confusion, empty offerings. Chi Chi watched it all with eyes that were only half-seeing. She had foolishly believed that things would finally resolve themselves once she and Gohan moved into Capsule Corporation. Lately, everything she touched seemed to be disintegrating around her. Her marriage, her finances, her rapport with her son… Gohan was becoming increasingly combative and insubordinate, a far cry from the meek and submissive boy that she cherished. He was uncooperative with the tutor she had hired to help him advance a grade; his conduct bordered on actual rudeness. The boy had tried telling her that the pressure to study was too much for him but she had stubbornly refused to listen. Bulma had told her, not so long ago, that if she persisted in this course she was going to alienate Gohan for good. Chi Chi cheeks burned with shame over the scathing retort she had given the sea-foam haired beauty for her interference. It was common knowledge that Gokou had never been any kind of an intellectual. He had only gotten as far as the sixth grade and his skills outside of martial arts were rudimentary, at best. The family had lived off of her inheritance because he couldn't have been bothered to get a job. Small wonder she wanted better things for her only child-  
  
-No, not only child. Soon, there were going to be two to worry about. Rubbing her stomach gingerly, the brunette submerged the self-pity that threatened to consume her. Everyone around her was crumbling to pieces; she had to remain the strong one. She was not going to break down in helpless tears!  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bulma getting wearily to her feet and rose to accompany her. "Is everything alright?"  
  
Glancing at her, Bulma nodded and headed towards the nurse's station. "I'm going to see if there's any news on Trunks' condition."  
  
"Bulma, I-" Chi Chi knew that the other woman had been talking with the doctor less than two hours before. There would be no new information but she understood this helpless anxiety caused by sitting around. "-I think that's a very good idea."  
  
The pair went to the counter and waited as the doctor was being paged. Bulma looked up to the wall that was displaying the vitals of the patients in the pediatric intensive care ward. There were two other children hooked up to life support. One was a baby girl born six weeks premature and the other a two-year-old boy who had been in a car accident. Trunks' name was written beneath one of the monitors and Bulma watched the laboring lines and blips that streaked across the screen with an aching heart. If it were possible, she would trade places with the baby in an instant. This wasn't fair for something to happen to someone so young and innocent.  
  
Make it stop, she thought to herself. If this is some kind of a sick, twisted joke, I want it to come to an end. RIGHT NOW.  
  
As if responding to her request, all of Trunks' vitals went flat- line.  
  
  
  
Grateful that his mother hadn't berated him for seeking out Piccolo, Gohan relaxed a little and took advantage of the fare that Mrs. Briefs had laid out in the waiting room. There was practically a buffet set out on the coffee tables and the boy made up for several days of infrequent meals. There were three pitchers of iced tea and he drank two of them down in rapid succession. Obviously, it wasn't long before his swollen bladder demanded to be voided.  
  
Heading down the corridor towards the bathroom, Gohan ogled the sterile surroundings. The last time he had been in this hospital was after the epic battle with the Saiyans and back then he hadn't been a visitor. He, Krillin and Gokou had been the last survivors to battle Vegeta and he had cleaned all of their clocks. It had just been a fluke that the boy's Oozaru state had fallen on the wounded Saiyan at the end, otherwise Earth would have been a barren cinder in space. Gohan and Krillin had spent a week in the hospital recovering from bruised bones and cuts. If not for a senzu bean, Gokou would have spent close to a year. Being here now created all sorts of bad memories for the young hybrid.  
  
The bathroom was empty but for one closed stall and Gohan stepped up to the urinal and did his business. When he went to the sink, he was so engrossed in the task of thoroughly washing his hands that he didn't notice anyone was behind him until an arm locked around his neck.  
  
Alien instinct kicked in and he immediately brought an elbow back, intending to connect with his attacker's ribcage. The blow was blocked. He kicked back and up with his left leg to nail the person in the groin with the heel of his foot. Again, the action was effortlessly thwarted. Staring at his reflection in confusion, Gohan saw that the man holding onto him was wearing a dark blue battle dress uniform. The hat was pulled down low over his face but, as the boy continued to stare, he finally glanced up. Gohan's entire body went limp in shock. "…Vegeta?"  
  
He was released and the boy eagerly turned to confront the missing Saiyan. Words were lost for the moment as he could only gape helplessly at the figure standing only a few feet from him.  
  
Staring back beneath the brim of the cap, Vegeta eyes remained locked on the youth as if expecting some manner of challenge. Little had changed in his face, it was as tense and expressionless as ever but Gohan thought that it looked a little paler than he remembered. Perhaps a little thinner, too. It was hard to tell under the loose clothes he was presently wearing. "Are you in disguise?"  
  
Vegeta's lips twitched and he straightened from the fighting stance he had adopted. He appeared shorter than Gohan remembered and the boy figured that it had something to do with the BDU cap the Saiyan was wearing. Without that mantle of flame-styled hair surrounding his head, the Saiyan lost at least a foot of extra height. He was about to comment on it when Vegeta turned his head towards the door, exposing the nape of his neck. Gohan plainly saw that the dense ragged spikes of the man's usual mane of hair were now only about an inch long. "Vegeta, what the heck happened to your- "  
  
Somebody was coming in and Gohan felt himself grabbed again and yanked into the nearby stall. The metal door closed just as Yamcha walked in. Glaring daggers at the boy, Vegeta's body language demanded that Gohan remain quiet while the other fighter went about his business. Registering that something wasn't right here by any stretch of the imagination, Gohan complied with the unspoken request.  
  
Entering the stall right beside theirs, Yamcha unbuckled his trousers and sat down on the toilet. He released two immense farts, made some comment about beans and then grunted. There was the faint splash of water soon after followed by another release of wind. Gohan almost burst out laughing when the former-bandit began humming the tune "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" and tapping his feet on the linoleum. The mirth dried up the instant he looked into Vegeta's dark, haunted eyes.  
  
It seemed to take forever before Yamcha was satisfied and pulled up his pants and then flushed the toilet. When he had exited the bathroom, Vegeta and Gohan quickly vacated the cramped stall and were almost gasping for air. "Filthy bastard never even washed his hands," Gohan heard the Saiyan grumble under his breath.  
  
Ignoring the characteristic sarcasm, Gohan shelved his earlier concern and had to restrain himself from releasing a shout of joy. "You're alright! Everyone was getting worried about you, Vegeta. Nobody has heard a thing in over-"  
  
"What's the boy's condition?" the Saiyan interrupted.  
  
"Trunks?" Gohan winced at the stupid question. "He's in bad shape. The doctor's don't think he'll make it to the end of the week."  
  
"Take me to him."  
  
"Sure. Follow me," the boy said. He was relieved beyond words that the Saiyan appeared to be concerned about the baby's welfare at long last. The pair left the bathroom and turned left down the corridor towards the ICU. Practically skipping in his excitement, Gohan kept a brisk pace while Vegeta lagged behind, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who might recognize him. He knew that the entire collection of Earth's defenders were assembled in the waiting area, only a handful of rooms away. There was no way he was going to let himself be interrupted in his duty until his intended task was complete.  
  
Stopping in front of a large window, Gohan waited for the other man to catch up and then nodded gravely at the scene beyond the glass. At first, Vegeta didn't understand what the boy was getting at until the situation dawned on him and he understood what they were seeing. Lying in a padded crib, Trunks' pale little form was hooked up to various monitoring devices and a respirator was assisting his breathing. A nurse, wearing sterile gear, was tending to some paperwork in the far corner.  
  
When the Saiyan's odd silence stretched on, Gohan spoke up; "Trunks wasn't eating that well for the last week or so. Bulma said that he might be suffering from- Oh, what was that word… veneer?"  
  
"V'Nhar."  
  
"Yeah, that. He went into some sort of seizure four days ago and still wouldn't accept what the nurses tried to give him. A day after that, he lapsed into a coma."  
  
"It's not a coma," Vegeta said tersely. "That's a condition reserved for those imbecilic soaps on daytime television. His system is just pining for proper nourishment."  
  
"But he won't take any food."  
  
"It's not food he wants," the Saiyan muttered and went to the door to let himself into the ICU. The deadbolt was electronic and required a code entered into the nearby keypad to gain entrance. Without any visible effort, Vegeta crushed the doorknob in one hand just as he rammed his shoulder into the door. It flew open, taking the reinforced metal jamb right along with it.  
  
"Sir! You can't come in here!" the nurse cried indignantly. "This is a sterile environment!"  
  
"Not anymore," Vegeta commented as he strode over to Trunks' crib. Poor Gohan was gamely keeping up but he couldn't look the furious attendant in the face, so great was his shame. He had been brought up to always respect authority and obey the rules. Now, after less than ten minutes in Vegeta's shadow, here he was ignoring both.  
  
The nurse ran over to her desk and immediately picked up the phone. "Security! I have a Code White in the-"  
  
With a muted curse, Vegeta whirled and flicked a miniature destructo disk from his first and middle fingers. It cut through the phone cord and collided with the far wall to dissipate in a harmless spray of sparks. The expression on the nurse's face was a cross between wonder and fear. She could only look down at the receiver in her hand where only a foot of cord was swinging back and forth. By the time she managed to look around at Vegeta, he was standing with his arm raised in her direction. "Get out," he barked. To lend import to his words, his hand began glowing.  
  
The nurse took off, screeching like a banshee the instant she left the ICU. Vegeta knew that in less than a minute, security and the assembled Z Fighters were going to descend on him like a cloud of locusts. He had to work quickly.  
  
Pulling the various electrodes from Trunks' small form, Vegeta scowled at the bruises from numerous needles that had marred the baby's flesh. Without any hesitation, he yanked out the breathing tube that had been forced down the boy's throat and unwrapped an object from his coat pocket. Paying keen attention beside the Saiyan, Gohan blanched in disgust at what the man held in one hand. "Oh gross! Is that what I think it is?"  
  
Raising Trunks' head, Vegeta was holding a scrap of bloody meat directly beneath the infant's nose. "This is what the boy needs in his diet. A thing his mothers' lactating teats can't provide for him," the Saiyan explained patiently as he waited for a reaction to his offering. Any reaction. "Domesticated or half-breed, the babe has Saiyan in his blood and craves a taste of the kill. I'm willing to bet that you kept your household up all night with your howling until you turned at least two."  
  
Blinking in surprise at the insight, Gohan could only gape at the other man. "Mom said I was a difficult baby until I turned two and finally started sleeping through the night. A piece of raw meat would have helped?"  
  
Vegeta only offered a terse nod as he focused his concentration on his son. The baby was rejecting the grisly gift and his labored breaths were becoming shallower by the second. Outside of the ICU, there were shouts and a flurry of footfalls. Bulma and Chi Chi were the first to run to the window, followed by the others.  
  
"Gohan! What are you doing in here? What's going on?!" Chi Chi shrieked at the top of her lungs as she rushed inside. Glaring daggers at the soldier standing over the stricken child, she snapped, "Who are you?" She didn't recognize the Saiyan in his unfamiliar gear and that was probably the only reason why she didn't go ballistic on the spot.  
  
"Vegeta…" Bulma whispered from behind her. She froze in the doorway, unable to make her legs go any further. Despite the inconsistencies in the man's appearance, she knew it was him almost instantly. Now he was standing over Trunks' bed, holding the baby with what looked like bloody hands.  
  
He's come to finish him off, she thought in terror. She tried to will her legs to move, to intervene, but too many days of little sleep finally took their toll. Collapsing strengthlessly to her knees, she gibbered senseless words to the Saiyan, begging him to spare their son. Behind her, Yamcha and the others looked on in shock, the tense scene actually causing them to pause in their course.  
  
Vegeta watched her histrionics through veiled eyes and then focused his attention back to Chi Chi. The woman was staring at him as if he had horns as his presence slowly dawned on her. Her eyes tracked from the scrap of bloody meat he was holding, to his face and back again in confusion. "Wha-what are you doing-"  
  
"Vegeta!" Gohan cried urgently. Trunks' body was beginning to shiver and his lips were turning blue from lack of oxygen.  
  
"He's dying!" Chi Chi wailed. "You bastard! What have you done?"  
  
Releasing a growl, Vegeta brought his wrist to his mouth and bit down deep into the veins, tearing away the flesh. He gripped the nape of Trunks' neck and forced the baby's face against the bleeding wound. "Drink, damn you! I COMMAND IT!" The transformation into Super Saiyan followed the order just as Vegeta's blood coated the infant. Both Gohan and Chi Chi were about to force the pair apart when they witnessed a stunning scene.  
  
Registering the scent of ki-infused blood, both of Trunks' eyes flew open in recognition. He immediately latched onto the offering, sucking at the spouting gash with a fevered intensity that shook his entire body. Gohan saw a flicker of relief pass by on the Saiyan's face as well as something else.  
  
Vegeta's nose was starting to bleed.  
  
  
  
----------------------------------------------------------  
  
Chapter Eight: Vegeta finally confronts Bulma about her past actions. 


	8. Painful Revelations

Two Sides To A Story  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
  
  
Through the singing in his skull, he barely heard the words; "Vegeta! What the hell are you doing?!"  
  
He didn't respond, so intent was he in maintaining his precarious state. Transforming into his Super Saiyan persona had been intended to raise his ki so that the suffering whelp might respond. He barely felt the baby clinging to his hand with panicked fingers, eagerly sucking on the blood so that the proffered power might suffuse his own depleted cells. It was an offering that no other person would be able to provide; a tradition of the royal family that bound each offspring to its unique lineage. This had been his state when he had been no older than Trunks, dependent on a blood gift from his sire to placate the wildness of his immature state. It was the final realization for the Saiyan prince that there could be no doubt that Trunks was his son.  
  
That, perhaps, the House of Vegeta was not so lost after all…  
  
There were more startled exclamations and someone pulled them apart. Vegeta's golden aura dissipated immediately although he had not consciously willed it. Stumbling backwards, he pressed the heel of his hand against his left temple in a vain attempt to hold the pounding agony at bay. The taste of copper was in his mouth and when he breathed through his nose, all that he snuffled back was slick blood. Almost gagging, he pulled a stained handkerchief out of his back pocket to try and staunch the nosebleed. The room seemed suddenly too bright for him and the surroundings were beginning to seesaw back and forth. There was someone beside him trying to wrap a towel around his still bleeding wrist and he kicked out instinctively. The person, a small, bald man he didn't recognize, flew backwards and upset a table with medical paraphernalia.  
  
Struggling with nausea, Vegeta slowly edged his way towards the door even as the blurred figures were advancing on him. The heel of his boot crunched down on something and he spared a glance down at the floor in confusion. He caught sight of the remains of a needle and released a wail of terror at the reminder of its intent. Panicking, he bolted for the exit and bowled over several people wearing white lab coats. The similarities only further amplified his urgency.  
  
He almost made it to the staircase when someone tackled him from behind. The pair slid into the wall in a tangle of arms and legs, the impact momentarily stunning him. His attacker managed to grab one of his arms and lever it behind his back before he could react.  
  
"!!NO!!" Vegeta screamed. He thrashed against the grip that held him at bay until his shoulder threatened to pull from its socket. "No more poisons! No more prisons! Let me GO!"  
  
Another face hovered on the periphery of his vision. He snapped his head around to confront this new threat, teeth bared in challenge. There was something vaguely familiar about that angelic face, framed by a mantle of odd blue hair. The name of that person struggled to pull itself free of the pounding between his ears. It seemed to take forever before he finally recognized her.  
  
"Bulma," he rasped out and ceased his struggles at last.  
  
  
  
When the monitor displaying Trunks' vitals went flat-line, it actually took several seconds for Bulma's brain to register the meaning. She probably would have continued to gape uncomprehendingly at the blank screen if a nurse hadn't barreled down the corridor, screaming: "Code White! Call security ASAP! There's a man in the ICU attacking one of the patients!"  
  
Chi Chi reacted first. Snagging the heiresses sleeve, she got Bulma moving and the pair bolted for the Pediatric ward. The rest of the Z fighters were stepping out of the waiting room and trying to isolate the source of the rising commotion. The frenzied nurse repeated her distress and that got the empowered humans moving even before the security guards exited from the elevator.  
  
Reaching the ICU first, Chi Chi and Bulma instinctively looked through the observation window. They saw a soldier leaning over Trunks' crib while a familiar figure stood placidly beside him. "Gohan!" the brunette hissed and charged into the room.  
  
Lingering behind, Bulma placed her fingertips on the glass as she examined the new arrival. When the man raised his head to glance at Chi Chi's entrance, her initial suspicions were confirmed. It was Vegeta. She would not notice the differences in his appearance until later when her shock and fear began to abate. Now all that she cared about was that the Saiyan, who had never approved of her pregnancy, was here to seemingly finish the job.  
  
When she caught sight of his bloody hand, she feared the worst. She collapsed to her knees, imploring him to spare their son. It wasn't until he burst into the golden embodiment of the Super Saiyan that it finally dawned on her that he was actually here to help. As ever, the transformation was a rare sight for her. Vegeta had only managed the feat just before the Cell Games, when he had trained in strict privacy. She could count on one hand the number of times she had witnessed him in this majestic state and was mesmerized by the golden aura that pulsated around him. His normally dark skin adopted a pallor that was not unattractive and the black of his eyes became a piercing teal color. Bulma looked to his hair for the characteristic blond spikes and saw only short, flaxen bristles beneath the cap he wore. The remnants of that nightmare in the Opera house came back to her, snapping her out of her wonderment. Getting to her feet, she ran over to the crib and immediately grimaced at the sight before her. Trunks appeared to have snapped out of his comatose state and was eagerly sucking on the Saiyan's self-inflicted wound. His little body was covered in crimson but he appeared to relish the grisly bath. His fingers rhythmically kneaded Vegeta's hand like a kitten basking in its mother's milk.  
  
Looking up at the boy's savior with genuine gratitude, Bulma's initial apprehension over her vision returned with a vengeance when she caught sight of the Saiyan's bloody nose. Any words she might have said suddenly became a sour lump in her throat. Glancing across the crib at Gohan, she saw an expression of concern on the boy's face that mirrored her own.  
  
"Vegeta! What the hell are you doing?!" Yamcha bellowed, striding into the room with the rest of the Special Forces.  
  
"Ew- gross!" Oolong bawled and immediately started retching over in the corner.  
  
"Tien, don't-" Bulma tried to stop her bald companion from interfering but was too late. The immense fighter pulled the Saiyan from the crib and Vegeta's transformed state extinguished itself the second he was separated from the infant. He appeared disorientated and was holding his head although she was certain that Tien had not struck him.  
  
Before she could concentrate on Vegeta's welfare, she had to check on Trunks first. Chi Chi was staring at the baby with a rare look of genuine shock on her face. For the first time in four arduous long days, Bulma was finally able to manage a smile at last.  
  
Gurgling his contentment, Trunks hiccuped once and then smiled up at his mother's face as if nothing had ever happened. He appeared to be his old, pleasant self once more and immediately held up his arms to her. Bulma wiped him clean as best she could with a spare towel and eagerly picked him up. "You're okay! My baby boy is okay! You sure had your mama going bugshit, little guy," Bulma cooed.  
  
"Bahgsit!" Trunks spouted enthusiastically. Laughing, Bulma hugged him as tightly as she dared and rocked him, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks.  
  
"Gohan, what's going on?" Chi Chi marveled in a stunned voice as she watched the pair.  
  
"Vegeta came to help Trunks, mom," the boy said in a soft voice.  
  
The disbelief was clear on the woman's face. "Vegeta?"  
  
"He said that a Saiyan baby needed blood in his diet. He tried to offer him a piece of meat but Trunks was too far gone so he-he…" Gohan lapsed into troubled silence.  
  
The rest of Chi Chi's questions were interrupted by the sound of a scuffle behind them. She turned just as Krillin collided with a table and Vegeta was making his way to the exit. Tien and the others appeared about to pounce on him and Bulma quickly handed Trunks over to the brunette so she could intervene. "Leave him alone. All of you! There's something wrong with him, can't you see that?"  
  
There was a crunch of glass and Vegeta paused long enough to stare down at his foot. The rare confusion on his face dissolved into visible fear at the sight of the broken needle he had stepped on. It was an expression that Gokou adopted whenever he caught so much as a glimpse of his most feared object on earth. For some reason, Vegeta was now also stricken by that near debilitating phobia of needles. The horrified cry he released actually caused Bulma's heart to tremble in sympathy. When he sprinted out of the ICU, buffeting a doctor and nurse aside in his haste, she looked over at Yamcha. Her ex-lover and friend had sensed that something was wrong and seemed to be waiting for some sort of cue from her.  
  
"Don't let him leave," she told him. "Be as gentle as you can."  
  
It hadn't been easy by any stretch of the imagination. Vegeta screamed things that made little sense and didn't appear to recognize any of them in his panic. It wasn't until Bulma knelt down in front of him that he began to register her presence for the first time. The blankness left his crazed features and he finally stopped fighting the desperate hold Yamcha had on him. "Bulma," he said raggedly.  
  
"Oh, Vegeta," she whispered in dismay. His cap had come off with his struggles and she plainly saw the close cropped bristles of his former mane. The mere sight was heartrending because she knew that the Saiyan wore his hair like a banner to display his royal lineage. The fact that someone had been able to get close enough to do this terrible deed was evidence enough that something horrible had happened to him. She touched the side of his face with trembling fingers and he recoiled violently from the contact. Yamcha let him go with a nod from her and the Saiyan scrambled back to his feet, backing away from them. He ran a hand through his hair, caught sight of his cap, and bent down to retrieve it. With a weary grunt, he dropped to one knee and shook his head to clear an onslaught of vertigo.  
  
Watching all of this in silent horror, Bulma replayed the Saiyan's outburst in her mind: No more poisons. No more prisons. It all tied into his disorientated state, that three-month disappearance and her past nightmare. He was barely recognizable from the proud alien who had stormed out of the Headquarters building four months ago. Odd clothes aside, his pale features and slimmer build, not to mention shorn hair, altered his appearance into one that was almost a stranger to her.  
  
The others, having witnessed Trunks' miraculous recuperation, now left the ICU to view the standoff in the corridor. Sensing their probing stares, Vegeta self-consciously replaced the cap, pulling the brim down low over his eyes. As if the hallway were suddenly too bright for him, he put on a pair of sunglasses. Bulma didn't like how the mirrored lenses hid her view of his eyes. She relied on them for valuable clues that the rest of his face would never betray.  
  
Vegeta wiped his nose with the back of his hand and checked for fresh blood. The nosebleed had stopped but his wrist throbbed painfully with each heartbeat. He gripped the mangled flesh with a grimace and didn't acknowledge that a new presence was beside him until Gohan said, "Here, Vegeta." He held out a clean towel.  
  
Snatching the offering from the boy, Vegeta wrapped it around his wrist to staunch the blood flow. Managing to get to his feet, he turned to the stairwell only to have Yamcha stand in his way. He glared at Bulma. "Call off your guard dog, woman. I'm leaving."  
  
Through trembling lips, she managed, "I don't know how to thank you for what you've done-"  
  
"Spare me the platitudes. I didn't do this for you."  
  
"Vegeta, I have so many questions!"  
  
"You're not worthy of the answers," he shot back. "You have the brat back, what more do you want? If it's a bother, I can easily take back what I gave."  
  
Tien joined Yamcha's side and, as ever, felt a gloating satisfaction at the way the small alien had to tilt his head back to look up at him. "If that's how you feel about Trunks, why bother coming back at all?" The huge man rumbled out. "Why not just let him suffer?"  
  
"His constant bawling was keeping me awake."  
  
"He's been in a coma for three days!"  
  
When the Saiyan didn't respond, Bulma spoke up, "You've been hearing him in your mind, haven't you? You have a mental bond with him."  
  
"Not by choice. But then, that's something you're all too familiar with, isn't it?" he sneered with open contempt.  
  
"Vegeta, he's your son!"  
  
"If the boy was truly my son, he would have my name. If he were truly an heir of Vegetasei, he would still have his tail."  
  
"Trunks wasn't born with a tail," Gohan supplied helpfully.  
  
Vegeta glared at Bulma over the rim of his sunglasses. In a low, dangerous voice, he asked her in an accusing tone, "Is that what you told them?"  
  
All of the moisture dried up in Bulma's mouth when she caught sight of the knowledge in those ebon depths. "You… you were there," she realized, barely aware that she had spoken the words out loud. "Ohmigod, you came back."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"B-but why?"  
  
"That should be obvious, even to you."  
  
Bulma collapsed into a nearby chair just as her legs gave out on her. The stares of her gathered friends were tracking back and forth from the Saiyan to her in clear confusion. Putting her hot face in her hands, her voice was muffled when she managed to get out: "You came back to kill me."  
  
To her surprise, he offered her one brisk shake of his head. "I returned to correct the wrong you did to me. Our first confrontation was unresolved; you caught me by surprise. By the time I resolved to rectify that mistake, you had already given birth to it."  
  
"What was to stop you from coming into the hospital and killing Trunks then?" Bulma asked dully.  
  
"I DID come inside," Vegeta assured her and Bulma's head snapped up in shock. There was a muttered undercurrent among the others at the revelation. "Right after the flesh butchers had hacked off the boy's tail and were in the process of hiding the mark. This world has no moon. What could possibly have been your motive in disfiguring him in such a horrible way?"  
  
Weighing her words very carefully, Bulma took a moment to evaluate the concern that Vegeta tried to hide with feigned indifference. It explained the terrible threats he had yelled at her just before he had left Capsule Corporation and the reason that he had avoided the baby up until now. Although he stoically coped with the loss, there wasn't a day that went by that Vegeta didn't mourn his severed tail. His identity as a Saiyan, and a Prince of the race no less, was severely compromised by its absence. That she had subjected Trunks to the same indignity was the reason for so much rage behind the Saiyan's past words and more than just a little hurt in his present admittance. Clearly, this outburst had been building since the moment he first laid eyes on her swollen belly but the catalyst for the overwhelming hatred had been the fate of the baby's tail. As much as she would have preferred to have this long overdue conversation in private, Vegeta had the right to give voice to his betrayal and she had to listen to it while her friends played witness. "Honestly? I was pissed off at you for leaving us. I didn't want any reminders of who or what you are."  
  
"So you mutilated a newborn out of revenge for me?" Vegeta said in disbelief. His face showed only blank shock until it suffused with hatred. "!!YOU MALICIOUS BITCH!!" He thundered at the top of his lungs. "Do you have any concept of what you've done?! The tail is the most important appendage of a Saiyan warrior. How would you feel if I severed one of your arms or legs? The loss is the same. You never even allowed the boy a choice in the matter."  
  
"Don't try to pass it off as if you care, Vegeta," Tien interjected coldly. "I remember when we were hunting Android 20 and it fired on Bulma's hoverjet. You never even made the effort to save either of them."  
  
Vegeta fixed him with a level glare. "Why did the responsibility to step in on their behalf automatically fall on my shoulders? All of you were there standing around and scratching your asses while I was absorbed in the task of tracking 20 with my ki. Any one of you could have prevented the attack on your 'dear childhood friend'." The reminder of their relationship with Bulma hit home and even Tien backed off in surprise. The Saiyan glared next at Bulma and said through clenched teeth, "And you… You willfully endangered the boy by bringing him into a combat area. What were you thinking?"  
  
Her cheeks flamed with shame over the incident. Yajirobi had been beside her in the cockpit and had pleaded repeatedly for her to turn away from the fighting. She had pressed stubbornly on, reverting back to her adventurous, carefree ways and oblivious of the possible threat to her infant son. In any judicial court, she would have been found guilty of child endangerment for the lapse, not that it would have mattered. If not for Mirai Trunks' intervention, they would have both been dead and it wouldn't have been Vegeta's fault.  
  
It would have been hers.  
  
"It's clear who shoulders the blame, but I'm the person everyone points the finger at whenever things go wrong," Vegeta continued, not bothering to wait for her response. "It wouldn't do me any good to try and tell them what you're really like, would it? Do you think they'd believe me if I tried to tell them that you're actually a lying, calculating, vindictive bitch?"  
  
"That's enough, Vegeta," Yamcha interrupted. Things were getting way too tense out here in the hallway of the hospital. Staff and patients were congregating in large numbers to watch the show and if he was reading the Saiyan's body language correctly, that meant Vegeta was close to becoming violent.  
  
"Vegeta, I'm sorry that I lied to you," Bulma said in a small voice. There was nothing else that she could possibly offer him in rebuttal. What he had said was true, every single word of it. "I'm really very sorry. It wasn't fair."  
  
"No, it wasn't," the Saiyan amended in a softer voice. It would be the only thing that they would ever agree on. "Get the brat out of this prison and go about your lives. Leave me to mine. I don't want to see any of you ever again. Understand?"  
  
Her acknowledgement came out as a soundless croak. Biting her lower lip to keep the tears at bay, she offered him one mute nod. Satisfied, Vegeta turned to face Yamcha and Tien who were still barring his exit. Wordlessly, the pair parted without any of their usual condescending banter and the Saiyan felt a fleeting sense of victory in their humble demeanor. The sensation passed quickly. There was nothing to gloat over in this conflict and there were no winners who emerged unscathed. Not from this fight.  
  
Stepping past the fighters, he noticed Chi Chi's protruding stomach and immediately recognized the significance. "I'm curious," he said in a cold voice. "Was that one merely an accident? Or did you deliberately intend to trap Kakarott as Bulma trapped me?"  
  
Before anyone could think of an answer, he opened the door to the stairwell and was gone from their sight.  
  
  
  
Trunks was swiftly moved into a private room where a staff of physicians checked him over, marveling at his sudden recovery. The babe appeared to thrive on all of the attention he was receiving until a nurse attempted to draw some blood. Scowling at the needle, he began wailing his distress and Bulma stepped in quickly on his behalf. "No more of that. He's exhausted."  
  
"But Ms. Briefs-" The doctor objected.  
  
"I said NO!" Bulma snapped. "None of you were able to do a damn thing for him here. I'm taking him home after he gets some rest."  
  
"Some bloodwork might be able to determine the cause of his illness," the physician persisted, eager to run some tests on the boy's apparently unique physiology. "Don't you want to know how to prevent a reoccurrence?"  
  
Bulma was beginning to get frustrated by the other man's ignorance. Her nerves were frayed by too many days of stress and she would have exploded on the spot if Chi Chi weren't standing beside her. "If he starts having trouble again I'll just wave a steak under his nose. Now get OUT!" she screamed.  
  
Muttering among themselves, the reluctant staff did as they were told and left the room. Chi Chi tried to put a comforting hand on Bulma's shoulder but the heiress only shook her head and deliberately shrugged it off. Leaning over the crib, Bulma wove a finger around one of the tiny lavender curls on the boy's head as the babe drifted off to sleep. For a long time, there was only the sound of Trunks gentle breathing until she spoke up with: "I thought I could tame him."  
  
Chi Chi spared a glance at Trunks but understood whom her friend was talking about. "Vegeta?"  
  
Bulma offered her friend a weary nod. There were alarming dark circles under her blue eyes, a combination of exhaustion and inexpressible grief. "When we were brought back from Namek, he was so feral, so full of anger but he was... lost, too. I don't know how to explain what I was thinking back then, 'Chi. All I saw was this lonely man who had no family, no friends, no home... no purpose to his life but to cause destruction. It was all that he knew. When we were alone together, I would catch a glimpse of a gentler side to him, something that Frieza and his brutes hadn't quite successively beaten out of him but it was barely a spark... and it was fading rapidly. So I made my choice and stopped taking the pill. I knew I wasn't getting any younger and I could afford to raise a child on my own, if it came to that. I thought it over very seriously before I made up my mind. But he was very careful when it came to matters like that and I ended up having to lie to him." She choked back a sob and stared up at her friend through a mask of tears. "I think that upset him the most, even more than my being pregnant. He finally lowered those guards of his and allowed himself to actually trust someone for probably the first time in decades and I ended up betraying him! You should have seen the hurt on his face when he saw that I was pregnant. You wouldn't have recognized him."  
  
"I didn't recognize him when he was here," the brunette confessed. "I'm not going to pretend that I like Vegeta in any way, shape or form… but he did heal Trunks and I can't ignore that. I'll admit that I can't figure any other possible motive behind him doing that but out of a genuine intention to help. That's not the Saiyan I remember."  
  
Privately pleased by the woman's confession, Bulma felt vindicated that someone had recognized Vegeta's selfless act on Trunks' behalf. "He's different," she said in a low voice, as if afraid of being overheard by the other fighters milling around outside of the room. "It's only been four months and he's changed but it's not for the better. We have to find out what's happened."  
  
"Bulma, he said that he want's to be left alone-"  
  
"You saw him! There's something wrong, 'Chi. He's sick."  
  
"He severed his own wrist, what do you expect? He was probably dizzy from the blood loss, that's all."  
  
She could talk until her face was as blue as her hair but Bulma knew that she wasn't going to sway the other woman over to her line of thinking. Chi Chi still had too much resentment directed towards the Saiyan to be truly objective in this matter; Vegeta had come, saved the day and left, that was all that concerned her. Bulma knew that pushing people away was a life-long habit for the Saiyan. If he truly was ill, it was his nature to hole up somewhere and lick his wounds in private and without interruption. There was no other person who could read him as well as she could. Deep down inside, instinctively, she knew that something was terribly wrong.  
  
As ever, in matters dealing with Vegeta, she knew she was on her own.  
  
  
  
Freeing his immense girth from the elevator, Chi Chi's father, the Ox King, stepped into a gathering that seemed more like a wake than a celebration. The rest of the fighters were milling around in the waiting room, all in a sullen and down-spirited mood. They really weren't needed for moral support anymore but nobody wanted to make the first move and leave for fear of appearing selfish. Vegeta's words had carried a ring of truth despite the alien's brusque nature and they were all reluctantly evaluating their past actions. Particularly of their treatment of the Saiyan. Vegeta made a convenient target because of his combative and unrepentant nature. His very arrogance dismissed their criticism as soon as it was voiced, or so they had believed up until this moment. It had become brutally clear this afternoon that all they'd managed to do was fuel the Saiyan's inherent distrust of them. Now that he was a Super Saiyan and Gokou, his only true adversary, was dead, it could develop into a lethal oversight if someone didn't resolve that resentment quickly. Unfortunately, nobody was willing to step forward first.  
  
Krillin was about to suggest that they draw lots to decide who gets picked for the task of trying to reason with the Saiyan when the Ox King lumbered into the room. "Hiya, everybody!" He greeted with his usual vacuous humor. "The doctors tell me that Trunks is going to be okay. Isn't that swell?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, it's great news," Yamcha said, forcing a lopsided grin on his face.  
  
Tipping his head to examine the faces of the gathered friends, the huge man commented, "Why is everybody so sad? Did I miss something?"  
  
"It's alright," Krillin spoke up quickly, knowing that the man could get as excitable as his daughter could. "You just missed Vegeta, that's all. He made quite an… exit."  
  
"Vegeta?…" The slow turning of the gears in the man's head was almost visible as he processed this new information with his usual tenacity. "Vegeta! Isn't that the nasty Saiyan who tried to invade the earth and beat up on little Gohan here?" He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately.  
  
"The same one, grandpa," Gohan supplied. "He actually came to help Trunks this time. He's not bad anymore."  
  
Standing off to the side, Tien opened his mouth at the comment, thought better of it and closed it again. He would never like Vegeta; after all, he had died in the initial invasion attempt just as Yamcha had. There were some things that could never be resolved and his own murder was one of them. However, giving voice to his misgivings in this circumstance would be a mistake. He had to come to terms with how he felt all on his own and not burden the others with it. At one time or another, they had all been on the receiving end of the Saiyan's cruelty. He would not be telling them something they didn't already know.  
  
"Hnh," the Ox King mused. "I wish I could of seen him face to face."  
  
"You wouldn't have recognized him," Yamcha said. "He was dressed in a military uniform complete with cap and Magnum boots. Even I didn't know who he was, at first. It was a helluva disguise."  
  
Gohan's grandfather's eyes lit up in recognition. "The soldier man! Yeah, I saw him get into a jeep in the parking lot and drive away just as I was coming in."  
  
Krillin was shaking his head. "Vegeta would never go for driving around in a car. That's just not his style. He would have flown."  
  
The Ox King's face drooped in disappointment. "I guess you're right," he said at last. "After all, the poor guy looked hurt, what with a bloody towel wrapped around his right wrist and all. I guess that couldn't have been him…"  
  
The stunned expressions of all of the gathered fighters spoke volumes until Master Roshi finally piped up: "Why would Vegeta choose to drive?"  
  
Nobody had an answer.  
  
  
  
----------------------------------------------------------  
  
Chapter Nine: Insight into the 'life' the Saiyan has made for himself. 


	9. Home Sweet Home

Two Sides To A Story  
  
Chapter Nine – Home Sweet Home  
  
  
  
Vegeta left the hospital but he didn't get very far.  
  
When he pulled out of the parking lot, he almost sideswiped a huge man crammed into a compact hovercar who was coming in. It hadn't been the lummox's fault at the near miss, it had been his and that was the only reason that he didn't start screaming expletives at the poor, befuddled soul. The bearded man, who had been wearing an odd cap with horns, actually smiled and waved at him as if people aimed their vehicles at him every day. Vegeta figured the odd fellow was likely some psychiatric patient on day privileges and dismissed the entire incident the minute he pulled onto the road.  
  
Besides, he had concerns of his own.  
  
Part of his problem was that he had been driving non-stop for the last fourteen hours and he was bone-tired. Another was his unfamiliarity with the vehicle and the established road rules that came with the responsibilities of driving. For one thing, he couldn't seem to wrap his brain around the concept of a speed limit. If the vehicle was designed to go fast, why did the posted limits hinder that ability? He even got into a nasty debate with a state trooper who had pulled him over about the puzzling concept and had been issued two tickets; one for speeding, and the other for verbally harassing a police officer. As soon as the officious prick was out of sight, Vegeta threw the tickets out of the window and slammed his foot back down on the gas pedal. What the fuck did he care about tickets for, anyway? They weren't in his name.  
  
The most important thing interfering with his concentration was the constant pounding between his ears. He should have become accustomed to it by now; the headaches were a constant companion but he was unprepared for the ferocity of his present migraine. Lapsing into the Super Saiyan form had been a terrible mistake but the urgency of the moment had demanded it be done. With his blood empowered by so much ki, Trunks shouldn't develop so much as a mild case of diaper rash anytime in the near future. The babe will sleep peacefully through the nights now and Vegeta was going to relish that silence. As bad as the nightmares were, for some reason the child-like wailing of, "Vehta!" over and over in his mind was much worse. He was looking forward to some downtime that wasn't plagued with guilt.  
  
Stopping at the first motel he saw, Vegeta went inside the main office and stepped up to the counter. As ever, the uniform he had on always commanded immediate respect and swift response and this time was no exception. He had concluded that the outfit was this world's equivalence of Saiyan armor, which was why he wore it.  
  
The manager checked him in and gave him a room as far from any activity as possible and Vegeta gave him a credit card to pay for the purchase. He signed the slip and was out of the door, barely hearing the man call after him, "Have a good sleep Corporal Tucker."  
  
Pulling the jeep into the parking spot in front of his assigned unit, Vegeta gathered his waning strength as he stared apathetically at the motel room. The distance from the vehicle to the door seemed like miles and it was with visible effort when he climbed out of the jeep and walked over to it. When he tried to unlock the door, his right hand spasmed and dropped the key. He tried to dismiss the clumsiness from the self-sustained wound on his wrist but he knew better. Picking up the item, he unlocked the door with his left hand and kicked it closed when he was through. Not even giving the surroundings a once-over glance, he focussed solely on the bed and collapsed upon it with a weary groan. Gripping the bedspread, he rolled over, cocooning himself in the fabric and pulling into a tight, little ball.  
  
His own heartbeat was deafening in his ears, actually making him wince in pain. Burrowing his face into the pillow, he rasped weakly, "Enough is enough. Just this once, let me sleep in peace."  
  
The headache only intensified until the stricken Saiyan enfolded his throbbing skull with his arms and tried not to scream with the agony. It could have been mere minutes or prolonged hours but he eventually did fall into a deep sleep.  
  
But, as ever, peace eluded him.  
  
  
  
Opening his eyes a bare crack, all that Vegeta saw was sterile white. The smells that assailed his nostrils were bleach, a multitude of human scents and medicinal concoctions. A hospital, then. Craning his head slightly to the right, he half-expected to catch sight of the blue-haired woman sleeping at the table by his bedside. There was a woman there, but she wasn't familiar. Almost comically, the pair locked eyes for one moment before the nurse rose to her feet and ran for the door. He could hear her calling urgently for the doctor, as if his waking out of a simple nap was anything to get excited over. Stupid humans, he concluded and dozed off.  
  
When he woke up again, the smells assured him that he wasn't alone even before he opened his eyes. The nurse was poised over him, which really didn't alarm him. It was the person standing beside her that caused him to tensen up in immediate recognition.  
  
"It's all right," Professor Gerald Willis was saying. "Everything's going to be all right now, V-"  
  
Releasing a terrifying roar of rage, Vegeta leapt from the bed and pounced onto the startled scientist, knocking them both to the floor. Raising his right arm to begin a punch that would guarantee his fist plow through his past tormentor's face, the Saiyan visibly hesitated.  
  
His right arm wouldn't work.  
  
"What the hell did you do to me?!" He yelled in the other man's face. Rather than get a verbal answer, the all to familiar sensation of a needle stinging him in the shoulder was his reward. Slipping unwillingly into oblivion, Vegeta could only think; I'm back in Installation Fifteen. I never got out- It's just been a dream all along. What about Frieza!?! What if he's still alive? !!NO!!  
  
Thrashing against the darkness full of fears both real and imagined, it seemed to be an eternity before the Saiyan finally managed to claw his way towards the light. The bitter taste of sedation was heavy in his mouth, making his stomach clench with nausea. He noticed that the room was dimmer. Nighttime. A light was turned on beside his bed, transforming the private room into solemn grays and lurking shadows. There was a window to his left; the blinds carefully drawn shut. The surroundings confused him. Where were the transparent cage and the armed guards? Nothing made any sense!  
  
He slowly sat up in bed and looked down at his right arm. There was the sensation of pins and needles in his fingers and when he tried to make a fist all that he could manage was a shuddering claw. The entire limb acted as if it were asleep and, as the time passed and the sensation refused to abate, Vegeta's worry intensified. It seemed very important to look out that window and be assured that it wasn't water on the other side of the glass. When he got to his feet, his right leg threatened to buckle and he had to hold the bed for support as he made his laborious way over to the window. Leaning against the wall, he pulled the blinds apart with his good hand and didn't realize he had been unconsciously holding his breath until he saw the view. Exhaling in relief, he saw the sprawling lights of a cityscape from his vantagepoint. "I'm not at that prison," he muttered aloud.  
  
"No, you're not," responded a voice behind him.  
  
Vegeta whirled and this time his ailing leg refused to hold him and he pitched backwards against the wall. Sliding to the floor, he pressed himself into the corner, baring his teeth in desperate self-defense as Professor Willis advanced. Frieza had learned the hard way how sharp those teeth could be. If this flesh butcher got any closer, he was going to discover a similar thing, only this time Vegeta was going to go for the throat.  
  
Perhaps sensing that, the doctor calmly seated himself on the bed and regarded the alien for a long moment. The eyes behind his spectacles were not condemning or hateful, but actually troubled and concerned. When he finally spoke, all he offered was, "I'm sorry."  
  
Vegeta narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  
  
"I didn't trust Speci- Frieza right from the start. I should have suspected that there was an underlining reason that he was so helpful. You both had some history together, didn't you?"  
  
Willis didn't really need confirmation on the observation. The vague, horrific details of the two aliens past relationship were made brutally clear in the moments before Installation Fifteen was destroyed. "Hector was wrong to let Frieza get to you. That breech of security was more to blame for Fifteen's destruction than you were. But you were wrong to kill his fiancée. I was wrong to experiment on you. It's a vicious cycle of blame and it ends right here and now."  
  
"You're going to kill me," Vegeta realized in as calm a voice as possible, given the circumstances. As weak as he was, there wasn't much he could do about it.  
  
The scientist shook his head. "I'm going to help you."  
  
"I don't need your help."  
  
"Fine. Walk out that door then. I won't stop you," he said, motioning to the exit.  
  
Vegeta's dark eyes flitted from the doctor to the door and back again. He didn't make a move.  
  
"It's been twenty-two days since you escaped from the Installation. You've been in a coma for all of that time," the scientist informed him, relieved to see a spark of surprise underneath all of the hatred in the Saiyan's eyes. "A Navy Search and Rescue team found you on an island and took you to the infirmary. You were wearing a soldier's uniform and no one figured you were anything else. Until I saw you, that is. I was the only other survivor."  
  
"Couldn't wait to haul me back under the microscope," Vegeta sneered with open contempt.  
  
"You're not under Military containment. You're in a Veteran's Hospital in Jacques City. As far as anyone is concerned, including my own superiors, you are Corporal Garth Tucker. That's the owner of the soldier's uniform you were wearing when you were found. As far as I'm concerned, you're him."  
  
Shaking his head in denial, Vegeta said, "That's not possible. Human's have relatives, friends-"  
  
"The ultra-secret nature of the Installation demanded that it be staffed with personnel with no close familial relations. Tucker was an only child, both of his parents were dead. He was a recent transfer so he had no close friends. You could effortlessly slip into his identity and no one would be the wiser for it."  
  
After a long considering pause, the Saiyan decided to shelve this information for now. There were more pressing concerns that needed to be addressed. "What's wrong with me?"  
  
"MRI scans reveal that you had a severe cerebrovascular hemorrhage in the left frontal lobe resulting in partial musculo-skeletal paralysis-"  
  
"English!"  
  
"You had a stroke, Vegeta. There was bleeding into your brain, which caused damage. That's why your right arm and leg is weak. It could have been the result of a blow or previous injury-"  
  
"It was the poison that you bastards pumped into me night and day that's responsible for this," Vegeta growled. He pushed himself to his feet by sheer will alone and willed his right leg to respond. It was trying to cooperate despite the fact that the signals were messed up, but it was a start.  
  
Professor Willis was shaking his head. "That was just necessary sedation-"  
  
"-That Frieza concocted thanks to you idiots! Do you think anything other than a poison would actually work on me?" The Saiyan was almost screaming in his frustration. "He told me that himself on the island!"  
  
The calmness that the physician exhibited suddenly faltered. "Specimen F escaped?"  
  
Despite the grim circumstances, Vegeta allowed himself one small gloating smile. "Don't worry. He didn't live for very long. And you won't find any of his DNA to clone, either. I made damn sure of that."  
  
Willis pursed his lips as he took measure of the alien before him. "You created that volcano on the island," he mused. "What happened after you used your power?"  
  
"I-" Vegeta hesitated, struggling past the fuzziness in his brain to remember the events following Frieza's death. There had been pain, that he remembered. Terrible, piercing misery and then… blackness. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Give me some clothes. I'm getting out of here."  
  
"I really hope that you'll reconsider that," the doctor said gravely.  
  
"No more of your bullshit!" Vegeta bellowed. "I'm leaving right now!" When the human showed no intention of assisting his request the last of the Saiyan's waning patience faded. Instinctively, he raised his left hand, palm-up in the doctor's face. "I've had about enough of you-"  
  
The instant he flexed the tendrils of his dormant ki, his breath caught in his throat at the harsh, seething agony that suddenly ripped through his mind. Gripping the sides of his head, he was only dimly aware that he was screaming, the sound drowned out by the deafening throbbing between his ears that seemed to mimic Frieza's laughter-  
  
  
  
Thrashing against the fabric that enveloped him, Vegeta fell out of the motel bed, colliding with the nightstand beside it. The lamp shattered and the sound helped to bring the Saiyan out of his dream and back to reality. Blinking rapidly, it took him a minute to remember where he was. His eyes slid to the front door and he suddenly got to his feet and sprinted for it, throwing it open. He thought he had sensed a faint ki but there was nobody outside of his room. Casting a thorough glance at the darkening surroundings, he went back inside and walked into the bathroom.  
  
"You're getting paranoid," he told his reflection as he gripped both sides of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw; dark circles under bloodshot eyes, a pale complexion that appeared sickly, and that damned hair! It was growing out quickly but the mere sight of the short bristles was enough to incite a dangerous rage inside of him. With a growl of anger, he plowed his fist directly into the mirror, shattering it. That damning reflection taunted him from a hundred pieces of jagged silver as he ran cool water over his injured wrist. The bite had crusted over but the flesh surrounding it was hot and swollen. Resolving to tend to it when he got home, he wrapped a clean towel protectively around the wound.  
  
Checking his watch, he was surprised to see that he had slept for over five hours. The migraine had faded to the background, allowing him to think past the pain again. As much as he would have liked to succumb to his weariness, he also wanted to get out of this damned city and all of its haunting reminders. Everywhere he went in the Western Capital, all that he saw was the Capsule Corporation logo. It was time to get the hell out.  
  
His own resolve betrayed him when he deliberately missed the exit leading out of the city and turned down the boulevard that led directly to the Headquarters compound. Parking across the street, he shut off the engine and leaned back in the seat, crossing his arms. It was full night now and the lights were on in the upper floors of the building where the Briefs family had their living quarters. Once in awhile, his keen eyes would catch sight of a silhouette in a window and he would unconsciously tensen until the figure moved on. There had been a time when he had considered that place his home but it was closed off to him now. His words to her in the hospital had cemented that reality. She had not pursued him when he had made his exit. She hadn't even tried. He had opened his heart and soul to her and had only watched it get thrown back in his face. Their strange bond had dissolved with only the babe as evidence that it had ever existed at all.  
  
"You win," he muttered under his breath, damning the sentiment but unable to prevent it. Bulma had outsmarted and manipulated him into achieving her goal; a feat worthy of a true Saiyan wench. She had tricked him using her own wits while he was none the wiser for it; too cock-struck to notice the deception. He had to respect her as much as he resented doing so. "I've never admitted losing to Kakarrot or even to Frieza, but I will to you. You won this battle fair and square."  
  
Cursing the tightness in his throat, he turned the ignition and sped off, heading for the freeway that would lead him out of the Capital. It would be the last time that he would ever set foot within its limits. When he pulled onto the onramp heading east, he resolved that he wasn't going to feel any regret or look back.  
  
He lost his struggle with the decision and ended up doing both.  
  
  
  
It was a long drive for the Saiyan prince and there were times when it seemed as if he were the only person on the road, as the kilometers passed by. Dangerously close to falling asleep behind the wheel, his thoughts drifted back to the precious time that he had spent with Bulma at the Hammorski Plaza. It had been a brief period where the both of them had been able to drop their guards and one of the only times in memory that Vegeta figured he had ever been truly happy. In that handful of days, he had reclaimed a portion of his lost identity thanks to isolation, freedom and a puzzling emotion from the woman that she liked to call love. He had never been regarded as anything more then a possession, thanks to Frieza's indifference, and had permitted that to cloud any expectations in possible relationships. Never in his wildest dreams could he have fathomed that someone would be able to capture his heart, tame it and claim it as their own.  
  
Even now, as much as he hated Bulma and cursed her name under his breath, a part of him still pined for her. The scent of her hair had been that of sun- warmed clover and the taste of her mouth had instilled in him a rare desire to pleasure, not torment. Normally a selfish lover intent on his own release, his ambitions changed dramatically when they were together. Never before had he been so overwhelmed by the exquisite nectar of the moist flesh between her alabaster thighs. The taste, slightly salty and completely feminine, loosened his last inhibitions and he feasted on her until she screamed her release. There was nothing that quite equaled the passion from a woman who had been pleasured into climax first. Certainly, he had appreciated it when her warm lips had surrounded his sensitive glands, laving the swollen head of his erection and worshipping it with her swirling tongue. Vegeta reasoned that perhaps it had to do with gratitude, after all he was quite skilled with his technique. Perhaps more importantly, was the fact that their bodies fit so well together. They were both small people and the ability to look at one another without craning the head up or down was appealing in its own right. Their mutually slim physiques had complemented one another, as well. Now that he was out of the picture, he figured that Yamcha would eventually come crawling back. The mere thought infuriated him. The human wasn't worthy of her.  
  
The oncoming headlights of a tractor-trailer rig momentarily blinded him and it wasn't until he rubbed his stinging eyes that he registered the wetness on his cheeks. He had been thinking of Bulma and crying, not even aware of it.  
  
"The bitch broke me," he rasped, scrubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. His vision warped with bitter tears until it seemed he were driving underwater as the passing headlights swam by. In desperation, he turned on the radio for a diversion;  
  
"-staff at the hospital have not released a formal statement about the boy's miraculous recovery. Witnesses reported that there was some manner of security breach in the ICU where the Briefs heir was recuperating but the individual was apparently subdued. Local baseball phenom, Yamcha, of the Earth's Special Forces, only commented to the press that the situation was a false alarm. Whatever the confusion, the entire Western Capital is breathing a sigh of relief tonight that Trunks Vegeta Briefs is going to make a full re-"  
  
Switching off the radio, Vegeta focused his attention back on the road, soothed by what he had heard. "Trunks Vegeta Briefs," he said aloud. His depression lifted with that small morsel of information. The boy had his name, after all.  
  
  
  
Nestled in the mountains of the Continent's Midwest, was the medium- sized city of Pitch. At the turn of the New Time, it had been a struggling community of miners intent on making it rich on gold and other rare ores. When the veins of precious metals grew scarce, so did the town's population until resurgence in the community two hundred years ago. Originally named Killian's Reach, for the first man who had ever scaled the mountain that over-shadowed the struggling community. It was renamed Pitch forty years ago, for the perpetual shadow that the same mountain cast over the buildings and streets during the day. A new enterprise in forestry and tourism kept the small city thriving but the inhabitants had a puzzling and unique nature about them. Perhaps due to the isolation or the altitude, the denizens were a brooding and solitary lot, intent on their own business and not interested in anyone else's. For its particular demographic, it had an extra-ordinarily high violence rate and seemed to have the habit of attracting the wrong element.  
  
Needless to say, Vegeta fit right in even if moving there hadn't been his original intention…  
  
The Saiyan hadn't stayed long in the Veteran's Hospital, not with Professor Willis hovering over him like some repentant vampire. The doctor had allowed his release only when it became evident that Vegeta was only getting worse under his care, not better. Distrusting the entire staff, he refused to eat any food provided and only caught bare snatches of sleep. The only person he paid any attention to was the physiotherapist, intently listening to her describe the exercises that would be necessary to regain his mobility. Not allowing her to so much as come near him, he only did the necessary regime when he was alone. When he had regained enough dexterity in the fingers of his right hand to button a shirt, he knew it was time to leave and that was just what he did. Willis didn't put up much of a fight. Quite honestly, he was anxious to have the Saiyan out of his sight before there was a new body count to worry about. Before Vegeta stepped out of the front door, Willis handed him a manila envelope.  
  
"What's this?" He asked suspiciously. Sniffing it once, he opened it and saw sheets of paper inside. Held to the documents by a paperclip was a debit card in Tucker's name.  
  
"Documents that you'll need," Willis told him. "Corporal Tucker's home address, his social security number, online banking passwords, even a passport. I've made arrangements that a generous disability pension will be added each month to the account. Your account. You should live quite comfortably…"  
  
Glowering in confusion at the obvious hesitation at the end of the man's sentence, Vegeta was unprepared for what the doctor told him next. Even before the explanation was over, the Saiyan turned on his heel and stormed out of the building. Watching him leave, the doctor released a forlorn sigh and reluctantly returned to his duties.  
  
Following the directions of the address he was given, Vegeta bought a bus ticket north to the strange city. He would have preferred to fly under his own power, and would have accomplished the feat if the headaches and nosebleeds weren't so severe. By the time he stepped off the bus into Pitch's terminal, he didn't figure that the singing in his head would have been much worse if he had attempted to fly the distance after all. Assaulted by confined body odors and the constant murmur of conflicting voices, Vegeta resolved NEVER to take any form of public transportation ever again.  
  
Fearing some sort of trap, the Saiyan camped out at a nearby hotel one block from his supposed home and stayed there for over a week. Between eating, sleeping and doing his rehabilitation exercises, he walked past the apartment building several times a day, senses straining for any hint of deception. He had rarely felt so vulnerable as he did the day he actually entered the building and went to the forth floor apartment that was to be his new home.  
  
As he parked in the assigned spot for his unit, Vegeta looked up at the building with a weary sort of gratitude. He had laid his head in a great many places over the years but not since he had been hastily uprooted from his homeworld, did he ever consider any of them truly his own. Capsule Corporation belonged to the Briefs; he had never had any claim to it. Even if this place was in the identity of another person, Vegeta knew that the ownership would never be contested. Only the building's superintendent had ever met the real Garth Tucker and he had ended up moving into another city. His replacement was none the wiser for the switch and really didn't give a damn about anything except the rent being in on time. Vegeta had only really lived there for about six weeks, but so far nobody bothered him. It was just how he liked it.  
  
Locking up the jeep, Vegeta entered the lobby and checked the mail in his slot. The only thing inside was a letter from Publisher's Clearing House telling him that he might be a millionaire and it immediately got thrown in the nearby trash bin. Ignoring the elevator, he went to the staircase and made the laborious ascent to the forth floor. His right leg rebelled to the stress but he stubbornly forced himself on. He was still terribly weak and was aware of how easily the meat-beating losers of the Earth's Special Forces had managed to prevent him from leaving the hospital. Why no one had come after him to take advantage of the apparent vulnerability was beyond him but he wasn't knocking the luck. More than likely, they didn't want him around anymore than he wanted to be near them. By leaving the Western Capital, he was doing them all a service.  
  
Limping over to the door of his apartment, he let himself inside and immediately locked it again, taking an appraising glance around. Nothing had changed in the furnishings or their arrangement since the real Corporal Tucker had left for his mission at Installation Fifteen over six months ago. A movie enthusiast, the soldier had framed movie posters hanging throughout the apartment that displayed all sorts of genres; some action, mostly sci-fi and horror. The living room ensemble was fairly new and comfortable and Vegeta's favorite color; dark blue. Thankfully, the entertainment center was the real high point of the Saiyan's discovery. A huge seventy-two inch television screen dominated the far wall, complete with surround sound speakers. Over the last six weeks while he recuperated, Vegeta availed himself of the soldier's immense DVD movie collection and spent more nights sleeping on the sofa than in one of the apartments two bedrooms. One of the rooms had a complete bedroom assortment but the other, Vegeta had been pleased to discover, had been made into an informal weight room. A home gym set and weight bench dominated the room, as well as a treadmill, recumbent cycle and some odd contraption called a 'Bow-Flex'. Vegeta had snapped off two of the supposedly unbreakable arms before he realized that combinations could be made to increase resistance. Once he had that figured out, it really wasn't all that bad of a workout.  
  
Concluding that everything was undisturbed, Vegeta went into the kitchen and then proceeded to search through the cupboards for something to eat. He still hadn't sorted out grocery shopping very well and the majority of his food was in the freezer, all packaged meat. The very first time he had walked past the meat section of the local supermarket, his stomach had growled loud enough to actually turn heads. All that meat! Poultry, beef, turkey, lamb- Gods, he couldn't stop his mouth from watering! He bought an armload of the juiciest portions and what didn't fit into the freezer ended up as his next meal. He didn't even bother cooking it.  
  
Intent on catching some much-needed sleep, he chose something simple and pulled a can of tuna from the cupboard, easily popping the lid. Selecting a spoon from the drawer, he ate directly from the can, puzzling over the conversation he'd had with the checkout girl when he had bought ten of the same cans.  
  
"Oh, somebody has a cat, I see!" She exclaimed as she swiped the barcode reader over the items.  
  
Vegeta only scowled at her. "Cat?"  
  
Faltering, the girl said, "Well, yeah. This is catfood you're buying."  
  
Picking up one of the cans, he read the label. "It says that this is whitefish and tuna. Are you telling me that it's cat meat?"  
  
"No, no… It meant to feed a cat. You want to buy people tuna."  
  
"What's the difference?"  
  
Swallowing, the girl told him to wait and rushed down an aisle, returning quickly with a can of real tuna. "This is what you want to buy."  
  
Looking dubiously at the proffered item, Vegeta shook his head. "It's a dollar more and doesn't have the easy opening top of the other ones. I'll take what I've got."  
  
"… And you're going to eat it?" The girl was starting to look a little green.  
  
"Protein is protein, what do I care?" He finally snapped at her. "Now, are you actually going to do your job and shut up?"  
  
He really didn't know what all of the fuss was about. It was cheap, easy to open and tasted just fine. It even had a sharp, fishy odor that appealed to his senses. The next time he went to the store, he was going to check out the other varieties he had seen; chunky chicken looked to be the next bet. It appeared to even come with gravy…  
  
After consuming the contents of two cans, he felt sated enough to finally try and get some sleep. For once, his headache wasn't bad and he wanted to take advantage of the rare treat. Heading into the bedroom, he closed the curtains and got undressed in the gloom. He used to sleep in the nude but ever since his ordeals at Installation Fifteen, he now wore briefs and a tee shirt. If he was having a particularly bad time with the memories, he went to bed fully clothed. There were times, in his nightmares, when he hadn't managed to get away from Frieza as he lay facedown in his cell. Sometimes, Frieza was the one who bit first…  
  
Before he dared surrender to his exhaustion, he went into the bedroom and thoroughly cleansed the wound on his wrist. His recuperative abilities were hard at work trying to repair the damage that Frieza's poison had done to his ki, leaving the rest of his system vulnerable to infection. The last thing he needed was gangrene and amputation. Considering he had the absolute worst luck of anyone else in the entire universe, Vegeta wasn't even going to deny the remote possibility of that happening to him.  
  
Carefully disinfecting the terrible bite, he rubbed an antibiotic ointment over it and then wrapped it with a sterile bandage. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow while he worked though his face never betrayed any discomfort. When he was finished, he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tabs. At some point in the past, Tucker had his wisdom teeth removed and had been prescribed heavy-duty pain relievers. Vegeta dry swallowed two from the near-empty bottle and left the bathroom to finally go to bed.  
  
Settling under the covers with a sigh, the Saiyan laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. Everything should be falling into place now; Cell was dead, Kakarrot's at peace, the Earth was out of danger, Trunks was healed. There wasn't anything left to plague his conscience.  
  
Was there?  
  
Thirteen hundred kilometers away was the mother of his only child, surrounded by her friends and the love of her family. Bulma Briefs life was now complete. With no attachments or enemies, she was ready to face life as she had before Radditz had ever set foot on the planet and started that viscous, hateful cycle of violence. With her friends, with her family-  
  
-Without him.  
  
Rolling over onto his side, Vegeta struggled to keep the emotions at bay. They were self-destructive, served no purpose to his present situation, and only interfered with his recovery. Before sleep finally claimed him, he figured that he had to be content with the fact that at least one of them was happy.  
  
Unfortunately, it wasn't him.  
  
  
  
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Chapter Ten: Gohan learns a lesson about the Birds and the Bees… Saiyan style. 


	10. Gohan's Lesson

Two Sides To A Story Chapter Ten  
  
Vegeta driving?  
  
When the Ox King confessed that revelation, the assembled Z Fighters broke out of their collective rumination to reflect on the events of the last hour.  
  
"I shouldn't have been able to take him down so easily," Yamcha muttered distinctly. It was a damning confession to admit out loud. There was always a part of him that had a rivaling jealousy where the feisty Saiyan was concerned. A small part was the competitive nature of his own personality; to always look for that next great battle. The true reason, he knew, was losing the love of his life to an alien who had only ever displayed villainous attributes. That Bulma would have chosen Vegeta over him was still not something his ego could easily shake. "There was something wrong with him."  
  
Tien grunted and looked away. "The attitude or the hair?"  
  
"Both," Krillin piped up. "When Vegeta dropped out of his Super Saiyan form, he didn't even recognize me. I don't even think he knew where he was."  
  
"No more poisons. No more prisons," Yamcha mused. "That was what he was yelling when I tackled him in the hallway. What the hell did he mean by that?"  
  
Nobody had an immediate answer that wasn't pure speculation. Stroking his chin, Krillin glanced at Chi Chi's father who was standing quietly off to the side. "What color was the jeep that Vegeta was driving?"  
  
"Uhmmmm." The huge man glanced up at the ceiling tiles as he collected his thoughts. What pitifully few he actually had, anyway. "Dark green, I think. Yeah! Reminded me of the forest on a cloudy day. Pretty, shiny wheels, too."  
  
"Krillin, what are you going to do?" Tien asked him suspiciously.  
  
The small man didn't answer as he left the waiting area and walked over to the private room where Trunks had been moved. The door was open a crack and he was able to hear snatches of a hushed conversation between Bulma and Chi Chi.  
  
"-said that he want's to be left alone-"  
  
"You saw him! There's something wrong, 'Chi. He's sick."  
  
"He severed his own wrist, what do you expect? He was probably dizzy from the blood loss, that's all."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Krillin collected his nerve and walked into the room. The brunette was clearly exasperated with Bulma who was leaning over the baby and appearing on the verge of tears. Both women looked up at his entrance.  
  
"If you're going to talk, keep your voice down. The baby just went to sleep," Chi Chi snapped at him.  
  
Swallowing nervously, Krillin turned to Bulma and said, "The Ox King told us that Vegeta left the hospital in a jeep-"  
  
"-He was driving?" Bulma asked in disbelief. She knew that the Saiyan had a curiosity towards technology that was almost a compulsive obsession, but he had never betrayed any interest in a vehicle that wasn't spaceworthy before. "Krillin, do you know where he went?"  
  
"Actually, that's why I'm here," he said reluctantly.  
  
  
  
Gohan or Piccolo would have been the more logical choices for this goosechase, Krillin reflected as he flew over the Western Capital. Unfortunately, the boy had chased after his mentor when Vegeta had exited the hospital, to call off the Namek's search. He wished that he had Gokou's telepathy to tell them to continue in the effort. Looking for a dark green jeep in the sprawling metropolis of the Capital was the proverbial needle in the haystack. The only thing going for him was the general rarity of Vegeta's choice of transportation. Virtually all vehicles in the Capital were hovercars in yellow or other garish colors. It should be relatively easy to spot something dark with chrome wheels.  
  
After his third hour of fruitless searching, Krillin began to doubt the logic. He had started with the outgoing highways and did spirals above the city that gradually tightened up until he was roaming the actual streets, his keen vision tracking the heavy flow of traffic. The part of his mind that was responsive to the ki of others was open but he hadn't felt so much as a flicker from the Saiyan. He wasn't sure what to make of that. There was always a constant power signature that enshrouded Vegeta, whether he was empowered with ki or at ease. His aura was usually similar to the heavy air felt just before a severe thunderstorm. Krillin knew the sensation intimately and would have recognized it without hesitation, but right now he was drawing a blank. It seemed that Bulma's worry was contagious.  
  
Quite by chance, he skimmed past a motel that was close to the hospital and actually slapped his forehead in exasperation. Parked in front of one of the units was precisely the dark green jeep that he had been searching for all along. He landed beside it and walked around the back to take note of the license plate number, frowning at the city of origin.  
  
Senses straining for any hint of the Saiyan's presence, Krillin was still drawing a blank and looked into the motel room's window. The curtains were open and he could see someone on the bed wrapped up in the bedspread. The figure was an indistinguishable lump and again, the diminutive fighter was plagued with doubt. Cautiously, he tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. Taking a deep breath, he let himself inside.  
  
I must have a deathwish, he thought morbidly as he approached the bed on his tiptoes. His features were set into a terrified rictus as he looked around the room for any sign of something familiar. If I'm in the wrong room, I hope it's some ditz like Marron so that I can charm my way back out without any hassle.  
  
All doubts were suspended the instant he caught sight of short spikes of hair against the pillow. Leaning in for a closer look, he could see one thick eyebrow above the coverslip the Saiyan had pulled over himself.  
  
"Veh-" Krillin's voice came out as a soundless croak and he gamely tried again. ".Vegeta?"  
  
There was no reaction. He should have taken his leave right then and there; after all, he had accomplished what he had set out to do. Quite inexplicably, an odd sense of concern flooded him and he chose to linger. The last time he had seen the brash prince display any kind of weakness had been back on Namek. Vegeta had outfitted them in combat gear prior to Frieza's arrival but Krillin and Gohan noticed that he had been battling exhaustion, and not able to successfully conceal it from them. Typically, he had a mindset to press on until he literally collapsed and it appeared that this time was one of them. When Krillin dared to raise his ki, Vegeta continued his deep slumber, unresponsive.  
  
Not good, the small fighter concluded when he exited the motel room as silently as he had come in. No, that wasn't a good sign AT ALL.  
  
  
  
"What am I going to do?" Bulma whispered under her breath as she stood at the window looking out into the darkness. Trunks had been brought back home a little over an hour ago. He had consumed an enormous pile of food, practically his entire body weight and reverted back to his pleasant, if obstinate, self again. Right now, he was sleeping away in his crib behind her as if the events of the last four days had never happened, his little face even had a hint of a contented smile. As tired as she was, Bulma knew that sleep would be impossible for her. Every time she looked at the infant, she saw Vegeta's bewildered, bloody face.  
  
"No more poisons. No more prisons," he had said. Oh dear Dende, what had happened to him? The arrogance at the hospital had been typical but when she replayed the confrontation over in her mind, she saw telltale cracks in his demeanor. Too stunned by his words to chase after him, she regretted the opportunity once it had passed. Krillin's revelation that the Saiyan was driving was a gift she could not ignore. It meant that Vegeta was still relatively close, perhaps still in the city limits.  
  
Despite his own fear of the Saiyan, Krillin had offered to search and Bulma practically leapt on the opportunity over Chi Chi's objections. She had become quite skilled at ignoring the brunette's constant criticism of Vegeta, but her tolerance was becoming strained.  
  
"I just want a license plate number, Krillin," she told her friend. "If you don't have to talk to him, then don't. Give him his space for now-"  
  
"Why on Earth are you doing this, Bulma?!" Chi Chi snapped in a harsh voice. Responding to her aggression on some unconscious level, Trunks cringed from the voice and whimpered forlornly in his sleep. That alone was the final straw for the sea-foam haired beauty. "The father of MY child isn't dead, Chi Chi. Just because Gokou is lost to you doesn't mean I have to lose Vegeta, too." As the woman stammered out a response, Bulma took advantage of the silence and trained her azure gaze on Krillin. "Go find him. Please."  
  
In her hand, she held a crumpled piece of paper with numbers scrawled on it, as well as some other information. Not satisfied with just the license number, Krillin had talked with the motel manager. Vegeta had apparently assumed the identity of an army Corporal named Garth Tucker. He had paid for the room using the soldier's credit card and even signed the register with the same name.  
  
None of it made any sense. How had Vegeta managed to slip into the identity of another person without calling attention to himself? She peered at the paper until her eyes ached, trying to sort out what it all meant. Engineering and technology were her strengths, not detective work. She was out of her league trying to figure all of this out on her own.  
  
As she stepped away from the window, she caught sight of a vehicle turn its headlights on and pull away from the curb where it had been parked. Bulma didn't think anything of it until she was walking down the hallway and heard a whisper sweep through her mind. Her arms crawled with responsive gooseflesh at the immediate familiarity of the raspy voice.  
  
.you win. Vegeta told her, the intent shrouded with grief and unspent tears. There was more, but it faded with the distance as the Saiyan drove away from Capsule Corporation leaving behind only a void.  
  
She ran back into the nursery and looked urgently out of the window but she was too late. The vehicle was already out of sight.  
  
  
  
Her resolve restored, Bulma went into her office and called the number of a private investigator that the company had on the payroll. Faxing the scant details of what Krillin had provided her, she urged the man to gather what information he could and to hurry. When she hung up the phone, she stared disgustedly at the mounds of paperwork that were piled on her desk. Staci, her secretary, had seen fit to haphazardly place documents in untidy mounds on any available bare surface without even bothering to sort through them. With a sigh, Bulma began the task of delegating priorities amid the clutter.  
  
Her garbage can was filled to the brim by the second hour and she was only half finished when she suddenly pulled out a manila envelope. The blood in her veins immediately dropped ten degrees. No return address, only her own, typed in nondescript block letters. With a sense of foreboding, she ripped it open with trembling fingers and pulled out two photographs. The first was another copy of the one she had received before- as if that one hadn't caught her attention. The second was of Trunks taken with a telephoto lens when she'd had the baby out on the lawn for an afternoon picnic only a few weeks ago. The sense of violation that swamped her was indescribable. Through indignant tears, she barely made out the message written over the infant's face;  
  
I think it's time we discussed paternity, don't you?  
  
There was a date and an address and a deliberate caution; Come alone. Slamming her fist down on the desk, Bulma released a string of bitter curses that would have made even Vegeta blanch in surprise. After that, she grabbed the phone. "Darren? There's something else I want you to do for me."  
  
  
  
Pulling into a parking spot in front of the school, Chi Chi held her swollen stomach as she laboriously exited the vehicle and rubbed her sore back when she straightened. "Damn you, Gokou," she swore, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. It was a litany that became more frequent as her pregnancy progressed. Right now, the baby was doing cartwheels in the womb and the last thing she wanted to do was travel. The crisis with Trunks had been two days ago and she had only started settling back into the family routine. Gohan had forgotten his lunch and Chi Chi had not given him any money for the cafeteria. A growing boy intent on his studies needed proper nourishment.  
  
Carrying an enormous paper sack filled with sandwiches, she went up the stairs that led into the large building, stepping around several youths lounging on the steps. "Don't any of you have classes to attend?" she asked churlishly.  
  
"You a teacher?" a young boy shot back.  
  
"I'm Gohan Son's mother!"  
  
The city school catered to over two thousand students and names became indistinguishable in favor of faces and specific cliques. One of the girls took note of Chi Chi's peasant attire and sniggered. "I bet she's Bumpkin's mom."  
  
"Bumpkin! No shit!" Several of the boys broke out laughing. "That little wussy in Kipfer's sixth grade class?"  
  
Chi Chi recognized the name of Gohan's homeroom teacher but dismissed the rest. There was no possible way that these rude little upstarts could be badmouthing her precious boy. They had to be mocking some other unfortunate child. "School is in session. You should be in class," she said, breaking into their cruel amusement.  
  
"Says who?" One of the boys challenged.  
  
A malevolent red aura enfolded the brunette's form. "!!ME!!" She shrieked at them, raising one fist and the children practically clambered over one another in their haste to run back into the building.  
  
Breathing heavily, Chi Chi rubbed her stomach, trying to soothe the babe who was reacting to the tension and kicking urgently in its distress. "It's okay, everything's alright. Mommy just lost her temper there for a minute. Disrespectful little brats." It was another reminder that this city was not the life for her. The people in the Capital were sophisticated, rushed and downright rude, right down to their children. If she weren't in such financial straights, she wouldn't even be here but Bulma's invitation to come and live with her could not have been turned down. If only for her child's sake-  
  
My children's sake, she corrected herself. They deserved the best and stability and education were at the top of her priorities for them. Right now, her present situation would have to suffice until she could figure out a way to return to the country. As she entered the school, she reflected that things should have been improving in hers and Gohan's life but if anything, it was only growing more complicated. The boy was becoming moody and actually starting to challenge her on her normally strict decisions. He wasn't sleeping well and more than once she had caught him in the living room watching a late night movie despite a strict bedtime curfew of nine o'clock. Early one morning she had even caught him doing laundry. Chi Chi didn't know what to make of his odd behavior and was growing frustrated with each clash of wills.  
  
Turning down a corridor, she approached the closed door of Gohan's classroom and knocked on the door. The teacher's muted voice on the other side immediately stilled and Ms. Kipfer opened the door a crack to look at her. "Yes?"  
  
"I'm Gohan Son's mother. I've come to bring him his lunch," Chi Chi offered the woman the bag, but for some reason the teacher stepped outside with her.  
  
"Gohan isn't here," the redhead informed her in a low voice. Behind the closed door, both women could hear the curious hushes of conversation among the students. "He didn't show up for class this morning-" The teacher hesitated at the sight of the livid blush that suffused the other woman's face. "I, uhm, take it that you didn't know. I should have called."  
  
"I saw to it that he left this morning," Chi Chi said from between clenched teeth. "I don't believe it. He's playing hooky!"  
  
"Mrs. Son, please keep your voice down-"  
  
"Bumpkin!" A child in the classroom shouted out and the rest of the students erupted into peals of shrill laughter. Ms. Kipfer opened the door to flash them a warning glare and when she turned back, Chi Chi was stalking back down the corridor, angrily talking to herself.  
  
The teacher debated calling her back but word had already spread among the faculty of the Son woman's caustic personality. There was no need to give the children of her homeroom more ammunition to use against Gohan than they already had. A quiet and unassuming boy, he was already being teased as a teacher's pet and the fact that he was a grade behind made him a convenient target among the other students. Perhaps Ms. Kipfer was guilty of a little favoritism but her heart went out to the boy who was from an obviously poor family and whose father had died in the spring. There was no sense to try and explain that to the rest of Gohan's peers: Children were cruel. Taking a deep breath, the woman returned to her homeroom.  
  
  
  
At precisely the same moment, Gohan was sitting outside of Bulma's office waiting for the Heiress to get out of a staff meeting. He was fidgeting in the seat and trying to curb his anxiety by rifling through the available magazines. It didn't help. He was a bundle of nerves for a variety of reasons, first and foremost was the knowledge that he had skipped school for the first time in his entire life. The consequences if his mother found out would be brutal but what had happened in bed last night had been the final straw. There was nobody else he could turn to with the exception of possibly one person. It was a longshot but it was a gamble that he was desperate to try.  
  
As he waited, a middle-aged man in a lab coat wandered by the secretary's desk. "Hey Staci, is Bulma out of the meeting yet?"  
  
The woman rolled her eyes. "Not yet, Charles. I told you before that I'd page you, didn't I?"  
  
"It might have slipped your mind, sweetness," the man drawled. He was about to turn around and head back when he glanced at Gohan. All of a sudden, he did a comical double take. "You! I know you!"  
  
Gohan looked guiltily around. Registering that there was no one else who could possibly be the focus of the man's attention, he squeaked out: "Me?"  
  
"I never forget a face," Charles remarked, closing in and squinting at him. Making a circle with his index finger and thumb, he examined the boy's features. "Yeah. yeah! I see it now! You're the blond kid who took out Cell, aren't you?"  
  
"Well. it wasn't just me-"  
  
"I knew it!" The man roared, causing the secretary to jump in her seat and spill her coffee. Searching the pockets of his coat, he pulled out a day planner and a pen. "Can I get your autograph?"  
  
Blushing clear down to his toes, Gohan signed a blank page for the man. "Like I was saying, mister, uhm."  
  
"Just call me Charles. Everybody does."  
  
".they call you asshole, too." Staci muttered distinctly as she blotted out the coffee stains on her skirt with a napkin.  
  
Ignoring her with difficulty, Gohan continued, "I just meant to say that there were a lot of others there helping me, that's all."  
  
"Yeah, I watched it all on the television. Until the reception went tits-up, anyway. Vegeta was the first one to show up. I was really rooting for him, no offense."  
  
"You know Vegeta?" The boy asked in surprise.  
  
"Know him?" The constant grin on the man's face stretched to almost impossible proportions. "That sonovabitch provided job security for me and my staff for the next five years! He was one hell of a gifted engineer, let me tell you."  
  
"We can't be talking about the same person-"  
  
"-Tanned, spiky-haired, hot-tempered, mean little prick," Charles said without malice. He burst out laughing at the shocked expression on the boy's innocent face. "He didn't work here long, just enough to shake things up. Truth be told, we'd been running out of ways to exploit the Hoi Poi Capsules and really needed to diversify our product line. Your pal sure did that! I still say that's why old man Briefs fired him. Couldn't stand any new blood coming in and showing him up. Now THAT was one bad month, let me tell you-"  
  
"You've lost me," Gohan finally managed to get in. "When did all of this happen?"  
  
"Three years ago," Charles said, taking a seat beside him. In his usual exorbitant manner, the scientist explained how Vegeta had briefly worked for Capsule Corp in exchange for staying there and using the facilities to train. He had provided the company invaluable schematics that were still being studied in the Research and Development lab. When he was fired for indeterminate reasons, Bulma had quit her position of vice-chair and department head. She had even moved out of the headquarters building in protest of the action. Rumors among the staff speculated that the pair had run off to get married.  
  
Gohan burst out laughing at that last part. He couldn't help it. "I can set the story straight on that one. They didn't elope."  
  
"Heh, too bad," Charles surprised him by saying. "I remember one morning, the entire staff walked in on them and there they both were; on the floor together. Bulma was straddling him and it looked like- Well, you get the idea," the man finished quickly as the boy's embarrassed flush came back deeper than before. "It's a shame that it didn't work out. They were a unique pair. Equally matched in spirit and intelligence. It's not often you find two people like that."  
  
"No, it sure isn't."  
  
"Trunks, though. He IS their son, isn't he?"  
  
Lost in thought, Gohan betrayed a simple nod before it dawned on him that Bulma wanted to keep the issue private. He almost groaned aloud for his stupidity.  
  
"I thought so. Mr. Satan's love child, my ass. The boy is the spitting image of his father, minus the hair and eye-color, of course. I'm glad to know that for sure."  
  
"Listen, mister- Charles, I don't think Bulma wants anyone to know-"  
  
"Relax, like I said, it's no surprise to me. Hell, most of the staff has figured it out but Bulma's the boss. If she wants to keep it a secret that's fine with-" There was a shrill beep that came from the scientist's pocket and he pulled out a pager and read the tiny display. Jumping to his feet, he turned to Gohan. "Looks like I'm back on the clock. It was a pleasure to meet you."  
  
"Same here," Gohan offered. Scarcely before the words were out, the man was rushing down the corridor, talking into a cellphone and gesturing wildly. The boy released a pent up breath at the sudden silence and he wasn't the only one. The secretary gave up trying to clean her skirt and got to her feet. "That Charles McNeal may be brilliant but he's too damned hyper from caffeine. I'm going to try and get this stain out. I'll be right back if anyone asks."  
  
"Sure," Gohan said, watching the woman as she retreated to the nearest bathroom. Leafing through a magazine to help pass the time, he looked up to watch a deliveryman approaching the desk. The man irritably looked around and then glowered at the nearest person within sight. "Where's the secretary?" he asked Gohan.  
  
"The washroom. She won't be long, she said."  
  
"Yeah, right. Listen, kid, I'm late for my rounds and I'm not waiting around. Tell her I've dropped this off and I'll be back later for a signature, alright?"  
  
"Sure, I guess. What is it?"  
  
"Just some information on a guy that Ms. Briefs was tracking down. Came from a private dick's office so I figure it's probably personal. I'll just leave it on the desk, okay?"  
  
Nodding, Gohan's attention was riveted on the envelope and he barely registered it when the man left without another word. For several minutes, the boy sat immobile in his seat, staring at the documents that were lying on the desk. He didn't make a move until the door to the woman's washroom started to open and he leapt from his chair and snatched the envelope, traveling down the opposite corridor in a blur.  
  
Staci returned to her desk with a noticeable wet blotch on the front of her skirt and reclaimed her seat. It actually took her awhile before she noticed that the boy was no longer in the waiting area. "Probably got bored," she muttered and went back to her typing.  
  
  
  
In the Continent's Midwest region, an early snowstorm was bearing down on Pitch, bringing the city to a crawl. The surly residents of the city grumbled at the timing as they got their winter gear out of closets and went into garages to retrieve shovels and snow blowers. Only the ski resort operators were thrilled by the blizzard, as well as one other person.  
  
Walking along the snow-covered sidewalk towards his apartment, Vegeta reveled the hush that fell over the city block as the storm intensified. Raw displays of weather always called forth an affinity in him; a similarity of untempered violence that refused to be tamed. There had been times, when he was younger, when he would ride the churning currents of storm clouds and dance with the lightening, having the time of his life. Perhaps on some unconscious level, he had been trying to become part of the storm and lose himself in the elemental force that enjoyed being something he was not.  
  
Free.  
  
Now that he was, being a participant of the storm was an impossibility for him. He had to be content with looking up into the clouds and submerging his regret. Grasping his heavy coat closer around him, he cast the windblown snow a longing glance and went inside his building. He was carrying several bags of burgers from the fast food restaurant around the corner and now all he wanted to do was get home, crank up the heat and eat his meal in peace.  
  
The instant he reached the landing of the forth floor, his expectations went out the window at who he saw waiting for him outside of his apartment. "I don't fucking believe it," he growled under his breath.  
  
Still wearing only clothes reserved for the West Coast, Gohan was sitting beside the door. He got to his feet when he saw the outraged Saiyan advancing. "Don't get angry, Vegeta. I just wanted to come and visit-"  
  
"Go play welcome wagon somewhere else!" Vegeta shouted. "How the hell did you find me?"  
  
"Bulma hired an investigator to track down your license plate number. The address was on the registration." Gohan pulled the envelope he had stolen from the secretary's desk out of the back pocket of his trousers. With a livid snarl, Vegeta lunged in and snatched the papers from the boy's hand before the youth could react.  
  
Glaring at him, the Saiyan began frisking himself for his keys. "I made it clear that I wanted to be left alone. Get lost, boy."  
  
The picture of dejection, Gohan put his hands in his pockets and shivered. "I'm really cold, Vegeta. Can I come inside and just warm up for a minute? Please?"  
  
"No," Vegeta responded. He unlocked the door, stepped inside and slammed it shut on the boy's hopeful face.  
  
With a huff, Gohan's lips tightened in irritation and he sat back down in the drafty hallway outside the Saiyan's apartment. He was determined to wait until next spring if that was what it took to talk to the embittered alien. In terms of stubbornness, the boy could hold his own if he had to, and that was precisely what he did right now. He remained where he was for an indeterminate number of hours and realized that he must have fallen asleep at some point in time. When he snapped out of his restless doze, he saw Vegeta standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, staring at him with an expression of exasperation. "Tenacious little bastard, aren't you?"  
  
"My parents were married," Gohan shot back as he stifled a yawn. "How about yours?"  
  
The deliberate sarcasm had the effect that Gohan hoped for. The Saiyan betrayed a reluctant smirk and retreated into his apartment but this time, the door was left open. Gratefully accepting the unspoken invitation, the boy entered the blissful warmth and closed the door, looking around curiously. He hadn't quite known what to expect to find if he successfully made it inside; he had been too absorbed in the task of just figuring out a way to get in. As ever, nothing about Vegeta was ever what it seemed, and his apartment seemed to reflect that. What surprised Gohan the most as he slowly made his way to the living room, was the neatness of the apartment. Everything was in its place, nothing was disturbed. He looked into the kitchen and plainly saw dishes that had been washed the night before and left on the tray beside the sink to drip-dry. The counters and floor were spotless.  
  
Vegeta had reclaimed his spot on the sofa, seemingly ignoring him as he watched the news on the large television screen that dominated the far wall. Coming up behind him, Gohan continued to look at the movie posters on the wall and the bric-a-brac on the various shelves. There was a fine sheen of dust over these things which suggested that the Saiyan's housekeeping abilities weren't perfect, but the boy was still thunderstruck by what he had seen. Everything looked perfectly normal. It wasn't a concept that was ever associated with Vegeta.  
  
Casting the Saiyan a wary glance, he settled down on the other end of the sofa, waiting for a reaction; a spike in ki, an explosive outburst. He received neither. Encouraged, he leaned back into the soft fabric and willed himself to relax, letting the room's heat lessen the chill his long vigil had settled into his flesh. For a time, the pair watched the TV in companionable silence until a commercial for a chocolate bar came on and the boy's stomach released a loud growl.  
  
Embarrassed, he dared to look over to the older Saiyan who was scowling at him. "Sorry. I haven't eaten since breakfast."  
  
Unexpectedly, Vegeta nudged the paper bag on the coffee table towards the boy using his foot. It took a minute for the offering to dawn on Gohan before he reached inside and pulled out a cheeseburger. ".Thanks."  
  
"Food is important to a Saiyan youth," Vegeta said gruffly.  
  
"It sure is," Gohan managed to get out between mouthfuls. The youth had better manners than his father ever had, at least in the sense that he took the time to unwrap the food before inhaling it. After five burgers, he appeared to be temporarily sated and the Saiyan wordlessly offered him a can from the six-pack that was sitting between them.  
  
Gohan eyed the beverage dubiously. "Beer? Don't you have any pop or juice or something?"  
  
"Do I look like a concession stand to you? Take it or don't, see if I give a shit."  
  
Despite his better judgement, the boy didn't want to end whatever odd truce they currently had between them. He took one of the cans and popped the tab, taking a small, experimental sip. It really didn't taste all that bad and he was amazed by how thirsty he really was. With true Saiyan fervor, he upended the contents and downed the entire can in one huge gulp. When he pulled it away, he released a belch that almost rattled the windows.  
  
Not looking away from the television, Vegeta handed him another beer, his slight smirk widening when the boy took this one without hesitation.  
  
Obviously, it wasn't long before Gohan was sporting a nice, mellow buzz. It was actually a welcome sensation. He had been a nervous wreck for months and being near Vegeta at the best of times was always a little unsettling. Gohan didn't fear him as much as Krillin did, but he had a healthy respect for what the mercurial alien was capable of. The beer helped take the edge off of that anxiety quite nicely.  
  
As if sensing the change in the boy's disposition, Vegeta asked, "Why are you here?"  
  
"I need to ask you something."  
  
"You didn't chance your mother's wrath to simply go sight-seeing. What do you want?"  
  
Gohan felt his tension start to return. Swallowing with difficulty, he looked down at the floor and managed to get out, "Vegeta. is it- is it normal for your body to. leak?"  
  
The irritation in Vegeta's features transformed into confusion.  
  
Starting to fidget in place, Gohan could feel his face burning with shame but he forced himself on. "I couldn't talk to mom about this. I mean, she's got problems of her own! I tried to explain it to Piccolo but being a Namek he doesn't understand so I thought that maybe Dende could heal me but he said I wasn't sick so I-I-I."  
  
"Boy, stop your babbling and get to the damned point! You're making my head spin."  
  
Compulsively, the young boy took a deep, fortifying drought from his third can of beer. "The first time happened after the Cell games, I really didn't think much of it. But lately it's been happening almost every night! I'll wake up and I'm all sticky, y'know. down there-"  
  
Vegeta's perpetual frown lessened with immediate understanding.  
  
"-At first, I thought I was bleeding. Then I-I thought that I was maybe wetting the bed but it's not- it isn't like-like-"  
  
"Boy, it's normal."  
  
Blinking with shock, Gohan whispered, ". it is?"  
  
"You're shooting off while you're sleeping. Get used to it," Vegeta said shortly and turned back to the TV.  
  
The Saiyan's casual dismissal of the topic was not something that Gohan could have ever anticipated. He had thought he was dying or afflicted with some strange disease like what his father had contracted from Yardrat. It had been interfering with his concentration and his studies and driving him practically mad with worry. "It's normal," he repeated in a stunned voice.  
  
"Yep," Vegeta confirmed as he popped open another can of beer. Unknown to the boy, he was nursing a decent buzz of his own.  
  
". It happened to you?"  
  
"When I was your age. You get dreams, you get hard, you get off. It means you're growing up."  
  
"It's gross. How do I stop it?"  
  
Vegeta choked on a mouthful of beer and broke off coughing. He turned to look at the boy in disbelief. "Stop it? Haven't you been listening to me? You're becoming a man. You'll be getting stronger-"  
  
"-I don't want to get any stronger!" Gohan suddenly yelled at him. "What has all of this power gotten me? My father is dead! I'm a grade behind in school! My mother is pregnant and we don't have any money! I duh- don't know whu-what I'm going to do!" He broke into shuddering sobs and took his face in his hands. The raw emotion had been building up for months; some of it was delayed shock and grief that still lingered from the Cell Games and even more from the stress of his family situation. The rest was actually relief that he was really okay.  
  
Feeling awkward for the first time, despite the subject matter involved, Vegeta shifted his weight and then reached out towards the boy. His intention had been to poke the wailing youth in the shoulder in an effort to get him to stop his bawling. Gohan only saw the outstretched arm and pressed himself against the shocked alien, weeping against Vegeta's chest in great braying sobs that shook his entire body. Torn between confusion and disgust, the older Saiyan actually tolerated the display of weakness until the torrent appeared to finally be tapering off. Not unkindly, he pushed Gohan away and wiped at the dampness on his sweater with an expression of distaste.  
  
"I-I'm sorry," Gohan sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. "It's just- It's been so long since I."  
  
"Your body is going through changes. It affects your emotions," Vegeta grumbled neutrally, unable to make eye contact.  
  
"It's driving me nuts, Vegeta. How am I supposed to get any sleep? I'm a nervous wreck!"  
  
"Learn to jerk off."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
Vegeta gawked at him in disbelief. For a moment, he thought that the boy was deliberately playing dumb until he realistically considered Gohan's background; He had a shrew mother who was probably so frigid that she screwed through a hole in the sheet. An idiot father who had believed that marriage meant some exotic meal. He had been trained by an asexual alien who, by the definition of his own breed, was essentially a virgin. And he hung around a deformed midget who had been a celibate monk for most of his life. Small wonder the boy was horrified by what was going on with his own body. He needed a thorough explanation and by some sick, twisted turn of fate, it appeared as if Vegeta had been drafted for the job.  
  
Releasing a sigh, Vegeta got to his feet and left the room without so much as a word to the bewildered youth. A few minutes later, he left the bedroom carrying a magazine and went into the kitchen to retrieve another six-pack. Gohan watched him drink down two cans of beer in rapid succession while he visibly collected his thoughts.  
  
Finally, the Saiyan nodded to himself and returned to the living room, sitting down near the confused boy. He opened the magazine he'd brought to the centerfold and held it up in front of the stunned youth. Gohan's face drained of color and his eyes bulged at the sight of that moist slit between the model's parted legs. And that wasn't the only part of him to bulge, either.  
  
"It's just like any combat lesson but first thing's first;" Vegeta said in as calm a voice as he could manage, given the circumstances. He deliberately pointed to the nude woman in the Penthouse he held. "Know your enemy."  
  
  
  
Thirteen hundred kilometers away, Bulma was burrowing through the paperwork on her secretary's once-immaculate desk, screaming; "Where is it?" Standing off to the sidelines, Staci was trying to appear invisible as her boss raged on. "I swear, Ms. Briefs. I didn't receive any documents from Darren Fosters Investigations today. I would have remembered!"  
  
"Try harder!" Bulma snapped at her. "Did you leave your desk? Could someone have taken it?"  
  
"I don't-" Realization dawned on her face and she blinked at her superior in confusion. "There was a boy here. I stepped out for a minute to remove a stain from my skirt. When I came back, he was gone."  
  
"A boy? Was it-"  
  
"Gohan!" Called a piercing shriek and both woman whirled to confront a seething Chi Chi who was marching down the corridor. "Is he down here, Bulma?"  
  
"Why? What's going on?" Bulma asked, entirely distracted by recent events. Her investigator had called earlier, asking for her opinion of the information he had managed to retrieve. After waiting impatiently for the news, the sudden misplacing of the data was nerve-wracking.  
  
"Gohan's run away! Can you believe it?" Chi Chi fumed. "He ditched school so I went to confront that green-skinned monster he's so fond of. Piccolo hasn't seen him since the hospital two days ago and he wouldn't dare lie to ME. Do you have any idea where he's gone, Bulma? Bulma?!"  
  
Barely hearing the words, Bulma ran a worried hand through her hair. It was possible that Gohan had been sitting in the waiting area when the documents from the investigation agency arrived. It was even likely that he had taken them. He had known that she had been trying to figure out where Vegeta had moved and made the necessary conclusions when the papers were delivered. He was extraordinarily bright. Moreover, he had been asking about Vegeta a lot lately, obviously missing that male Saiyan presence that had been left behind ever since his father had been killed. The boy might have been desperate enough to steal the documents in order to finally track the lone alien down. Normally, Bulma would have been unbothered if that was the only information the envelope had contained.  
  
However, the contents of the blackmailer's letters had been included. Bulma had asked Darren Foster to have them scanned for fingerprints and run them through the police files for a possible match. Over the phone, the investigator had informed her that the only fingerprints found on any of the photos had been hers. Unwittingly, she had contaminated the evidence. The blackmailer's identity was still unknown. The time, date and location of the meeting were currently in Gohan's hands and he had taken them to Vegeta.  
  
Even worse, that covert meeting was tomorrow.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Eleven: Who will reach the blackmailer first? Bulma or Vegeta? 


	11. The Final Reunion

Two Sides To A Story Chapter Eleven  
  
There was no possible way that Gohan could fall asleep.  
  
Oh, he was tired. There was no disputing that. For months, he had caught only snatches of anything even remotely resembling contented slumber. He missed his father terribly, the acute sting of loss only now starting to fade to a tolerable ache. Conflicting with his grief were the inexplicable changes going on with his own body. He had thought that he had everything under control until he had started school in the Western Capital. After a childhood spent of solitary studying, he found himself completely unprepared for the pandemonium that had greeted him when he walked into the immense building. Children and adults together in alarming numbers, actually existing in peaceful, co-existing chaos. It was all rather overwhelming to his gentle nature and Gohan was aware that he stood out like a sore thumb. The city kids were spoiled, snide and already had formed their various cliques that offered no invitations his way. As much as he would have liked to fit in, he knew it would be impossible when the nicknames started; Bumpkin, Welfare Bait, Farmer Boy; the names changed as easily as the tides. With a maturity that went far beyond his years, Gohan ignored the taunts quite easily. Being in the school afforded him far more opportunities to avail himself of the lab and computer equipment that would normally be inaccessible, and that was reward enough. His mind could shut out the distractions quite easily.  
  
His body, however, couldn't.  
  
Ms. Kipfer, his homeroom teacher, was a recent divorcee who was desperately trying to rejoin the dating circuit. She was fixated on the math teacher down the hall, Mr. Morris, and often wore skirts that had a suggestive split up one thigh or a sweater that was often too tight. There were times, when she would bend over his desk to examine his paperwork, that Gohan's penis seemed to assume a life of its own. It wasn't long before the boy started having strange dreams about her that caused him to wake up in the early mornings in sweaty frustration, often with his immature seed coating his lower belly. He didn't know what to make of the phenomenon and he was too scared and embarrassed to bring it up with either his mother or Bulma. So he suffered in silence, washing and drying his sheets in the laundry room and then replacing them so that no one would be the wiser for what was happening. He had driven himself into such a state of worry that he finally decided to chance his mother's rage and seek out the one person who might possibly be able to provide an explanation.  
  
Vegeta.  
  
It was a long shot. The Saiyan was in self-imposed exile and had made it clear that he wanted to be left alone. Gohan knew that he was going to have to be persistent if he was going to expect anything more, short of rude hostility. The pair had a wary respect for one another that had developed from past clashes and reluctant alliances. Gohan had been the one to finally subdue him when he had been on the precipice of defeating them in their initial meeting. Vegeta never forgot that humiliating defeat. More recently, Gohan had ascended to Super Saiyan at the age of eleven when he, himself, had nearly died to accomplish the feat at the age of thirty-four. The fact that a mere boy had finished Cell was the most crushing blow of all to his pride.  
  
All of the other Z Fighters liked to boast that Gohan was the strongest warrior on the planet now. What they didn't seem to realize was that his inexperience and compassion were a direct liability to his wielding so much power. Not even the death of his father had been enough to goad him into hatred and destroy Cell once and for all. If not for Vegeta's timely diversion, there wouldn't even be an earth. Immune to such emotional liabilities and boasting an experience in using his abilities that none of them could even dare chance a guess at, Vegeta was the true warrior. Gohan had no doubt that if it ever came to a battle to the death between them, the Saiyan's speed and ruthlessness would do him in before he even had a chance to react to the challenge. Piccolo had been the one to offer that reality check shortly before Gohan had packed up and moved to the Western Capital.  
  
"If Vegeta gets it into his mind to pick up where he last left off, I don't know if we can stop him," the Namek told him, his emerald features as grave as stone.  
  
Frowning up at him in confusion, Gohan puzzled over the statement in silence for a few moments. "I thought he's one of the good guys now?" He said at last.  
  
Piccolo looked at him as if he were mad. "Vegeta is a creature of opportunity, Gohan. Look at the facts; He is now a Super Saiyan, his greatest adversary -your father- is dead. He's free from Frieza. What's to stop him from forming an empire of his own, starting with Earth?"  
  
"Me?" Gohan squeaked.  
  
"You're powerful, there's no doubting that, but there's much more to battle than just brute force. There's experience, strategy, ferocity and determination. What Vegeta lacks in power he more than makes up in those abilities. I'd like to believe that you would emerge victorious but I fear... I fear..." He let the statement linger.  
  
"Vegeta's a different person now," Gohan supplied helpfully. "He has a life on earth with Bulma and Trunks. You don't have anything to worry about, Piccolo."  
  
"I sure hope you're right," the Namek fretted.  
  
As it turned out, there WAS something to worry about but it had nothing to do with Vegeta reverting to his villainous ways. On the contrary, the Saiyan still possessed that rare selflessness made apparent by his sacrifice to Trunks in the hospital. But there was something seriously wrong with him. The ki that Gohan had sensed from him had not been the alien's usual intensity at all, even his personal aura had been discolored; like a bruise to the soul. Vegeta had been in no mood for questions then, if his words to Bulma were any indication, but Gohan took note of the warning signs and shelved that knowledge for later.  
  
His suspicions had been confirmed when the Saiyan had reached the landing to the floor of his apartment, obviously favoring his right leg. He had offered Gohan nothing more than his usual hostility, that was to be expected, but Gohan hadn't anticipated anything remotely resembling an invitation. By the time he had been permitted into the apartment, he had been so flustered that his concerns over Vegeta's health had taken a back seat to his own curiosity. Then came the beer, and the brusque response to what he had thought was some sort of mortal affliction. He was amazed to discover that it even had a name: wet dreams. Once he caught sight of the nude woman in Vegeta's magazine, thoughts of the Saiyan's health became the furthest thing from his mind. He listened, dry-mouthed and dumbfounded, as Vegeta bluntly laid out the straight facts about sex and the opposite gender's involvement in the act.  
  
Vegeta told him point blank; "It's fine to rely on your hand in a pinch but it's nothing compared to pussy."  
  
"What does a cat have to do with sex?" Gohan innocently piped up.  
  
Slapping his hand against his forehead in exasperation, the Saiyan grappled with his temper before setting the boy straight on the slang. Surprisingly enough, he was quite patient in fielding Gohan's questions and was far more thorough in his explanations than he needed to be. By the time they were done, the young Saiyan's mind was blurring with strange, exotic words; clitoris, fellatio, orgasm, cunnilingus. Their true significance was foreign to him at this stage in his young life but he couldn't wait to make the discoveries when the opportunity presented itself. Smiling at Vegeta with genuine gratitude, he praised; "You're really good at this. Who told you all about sex when you were my age?"  
  
"Nappa and Radditz."  
  
"And they gave you this talk?"  
  
For some reason, Vegeta looked away and stared bleakly at the window for a long moment. Sleet was splattering up against the glass and running down its surface in frozen streamers. "I wish that they had," he almost whispered. "Things... might have been different..."  
  
When Gohan tried to question the enigmatic confession, it was clear that the truce between them was over. Vegeta's self-imposed walls were back up and any trace of approachability left his features to be replaced by that usual sullenness. "It's late. I'm going to bed," he suddenly announced and got to his feet.  
  
Wondering what he had said wrong, Gohan watched him stalk out of the living room. "Can... can I sleep here for the night?"  
  
Stopping in his tracks, the Saiyan glared daggers at him before relenting. "Fine. If I find any cum stains on my sofa in the morning, you'll be licking them up. Is that clear, boy?"  
  
Swallowing, Gohan offered a meek affirmative. Flashing him one more warning glance, Vegeta nodded once and then disappeared down the hall. Waiting expectantly for the offering of a blanket and a pillow, the boy was all smiles when his reluctant host returned. All the Saiyan did was turn out the lights before retiring to his bedroom without a word. Sitting alone in the darkness, Gohan could only sigh.  
  
After some stumbling around the unfamiliar surroundings, Gohan settled for one of Vegeta's coats and pulled it over himself as he lay down on the sofa. The Saiyan had a different scent than his father or Piccolo but it was masculine and comforting and the boy was smiling slightly as he settled into a more comfortable position on the couch. His worries had been solved, all questions were answered, he should have been able to fall asleep with ease.  
  
But. he couldn't. Too late, his concerns for Vegeta's welfare were only now resurfacing with a vengeance. He had lost a valuable opportunity to voice them when the Saiyan had been approachable. Any chances of finding out about the details behind that prolonged absence had passed by.  
  
Gohan sat up, berated himself for his stupidity, and cast a glance down the hallway. There was still a strip of light showing beneath Vegeta's closed bedroom door and the boy forced himself to his feet. He knew that he was chancing a flight home in the dark, probably in a matter of minutes, but he wouldn't be able to face Bulma if he didn't at least try to talk to the gruff Saiyan. Walking practically on his tiptoes, Gohan inched his way over to the door and placed an ear close to the surface. His father used to snore like a bandsaw but he wasn't sure of Vegeta's sleeping habits. After several minutes of silence, he rapped a knuckle lightly on the door. "Vegeta? Are you awake?"  
  
"What do you want now, boy?" came the churlish response.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Gohan turned the knob and looked in. The lamp on the nightstand was turned on but the bed was undisturbed. Leaning in further, he spotted Vegeta standing beside the bedroom window, staring out at the storm that was raging beyond the apartment. His arms were crossed in that usual, imperious pose but his face had lost its aggression and now only appeared thoughtful and sad. "You can make all of the speeches you want but I've got a pretty good idea what you're going to say."  
  
Stepping into the room, Gohan attempted, "I only wanted to ask where you've been-"  
  
"That's none of your business. You're treading on thin ice, brat."  
  
Deciding on a different tactic, the boy asked cautiously, "Are you ever going to return to Capsule Corporation?"  
  
Vegeta's response was a sour snort.  
  
"I'm not going to pretend that I know what happened between you and Bulma," Gohan persisted. "I only see for myself how miserable the both of you are right now. There's more to this than hurt feelings, Vegeta. There's Trunks to consider. You have to come back-"  
  
Whirling around, Vegeta snapped; "The days of anyone telling me what to do are over. Bulma wanted the brat so badly; she can puzzle out the problems on her own. I have everything that I want right here."  
  
"Love? Family? What about those?" Gohan ventured hopefully.  
  
"Human concepts. They mean nothing to me."  
  
"They must or you never would have come to the hospital to heal Trunks and confront Bulma," the boy said in a level voice, ignoring the lethal glare that Vegeta was flashing in his direction. "You said your piece and she apologized. Why can't you forgive her?"  
  
"I'd told her my feelings on this matter from Day One: That I would never sire any half-blooded mongrel. As it is, I have to endure my father screaming his constant disapproval inside of my head with practically every move I make. Now the Royal line of Vegetasei comes to a crashing end thanks to a purple-haired half-breed who goes by the name of 'Trunks'. What the hell kind of a name is that anyway?"  
  
"I think it was an uncle of Mr. Briefs-"  
  
"It was a rhetorical question. I really don't give a shit," he growled. "The brat's first name is not mine, his tail was taken from him...I ask you, boy; what is the appeal of that ugly little creature to me?"  
  
Very quietly, Gohan answered, "He's still your son, Vegeta. He has half of your blood inside him and he needs his father. Mine is-" His voice broke and he grappled with his grief for a few seconds and then forced himself on, "My father is dead. I loved him so much that it still hurts if I just so much as think of him. Trunks deserves to know who you are."  
  
"Why? So that he can grow to despise me as much as I did my own father?" Vegeta sneered.  
  
Gohan wasn't sure how to respond to that question. Before he could come up with something to say, the Saiyan continued, "The first person I ever trusted was him...and he gave me away to Frieza like I was some unwanted creature. I was his SON!" He looked away, struggling with his anger and something much more personal. "The last was Bulma and look what happened. I expected more from her. I should have known better. I won't let it happen again and there's nothing you can say to change that," he finished.  
  
Gohan could see the stirrings of emotions in the alien's dark eyes and was finally able to see the appeal of the man that had captivated Bulma so entirely. Vegeta was the embodiment of conflicted emotions that were the direct result of his tragic past. It had never been intended that he become a soldier, his destiny had been to rule an empire but Frieza had changed all of that in the blink of an eye. An orphan of war, the Saiyan prince ended up in service to the tyrant, beaten down until he had been able endure the punishment and mean enough to start inflicting his own.  
  
There was no conflict looming over the horizon that could possibly act as a diversion. His rage and despair might well turn in on itself if something wasn't done quickly but Gohan knew he was out of his league here. Vegeta was visibly upset at the separation and at a loss as to how to cope. If there wasn't some kind of reconciliation in the near future, Piccolo's grim prophecy might turn into a reality.  
  
As he struggled with his words, Vegeta turned to face him and the boy sucked in a deep breath at the potential malice in the Saiyan's features. In that instant, Gohan was brought back to the first time that they had met on the battlefield, before all of the innocent blood had been spilled. Reflexively, his stomach clenched with uneasiness at the dark familiarity of that expression.  
  
'If Vegeta gets it into his mind to pick up where he last left off, I don't know if we can stop him', Piccolo repeated into the back of his mind.  
  
"Vegeta-" Gohan attempted.  
  
"We're done. Get out." The palm that was raised in the boy's direction punctuated the words with deadly intent.  
  
Wasting no time on trite excuses, the boy backpedaled out of the room and closed the door. For one long moment, he stood in the hallway waiting for the Saiyan to come charging after him but nothing happened. Shaking for no good reason he could pinpoint, Gohan returned to the couch and tried to fall asleep. Unfortunately, concerns and worries that rarely ever crossed a twelve-year olds path weighed down his young mind. He spent the remainder of the night staring up at the ceiling, wondering how he could possibly get Bulma and Vegeta back together.  
  
He was oblivious to the fact that he was already responsible for setting that wheel in motion.  
  
  
  
The storm broke just before dawn and the sound of snowplows, laboriously trying to clear the buried streets, woke Gohan out of a troubled doze. His hand quickly flew to his crotch to check for embarrassing moisture but Ms. Kipfer hadn't had the time to dance into his dreams and, for once, he was soft and dry. Breathing a sigh of relief, he got to his feet and looked out of the window of the forth floor apartment. The view was actually very majestic, with the surrounding mountains brooding over the city the way they did. There was the feeling of isolation from the rest of the world that filled Gohan with a conflicted sense of wonder and loss. From here, the Western Capital seemed very far away.  
  
Impulsively, Gohan checked his watch. He wondered if it were possible to make a quick flight back to Capsule Corporation and perhaps slip into the bed just before his mother would come to wake him up in time to get ready for school. If everything went his way, no one would even know he had ever been missing! Eager to avoid his mother's anger, he hung up Vegeta's jacket and went to the front door. He was about to let himself out when he rummaged in his pocket and suddenly remembered that Vegeta had taken the papers that he had stolen from Bulma's secretary's desk. "Shit," he cursed and slapped a guilty hand over his mouth. One evening spent in Vegeta's shadow and he was already swearing. Great.  
  
Pacing the apartment restlessly, he waited for another two hours hoping that Vegeta would be an early riser. During that time, he watched some television, examined the various prints hanging on the walls and went into the kitchen to make himself something for breakfast. The refrigerator was stocked with cans of tomato juice and cartons of eggs. There was no bread, fruit, or condiments that might be involved with such items. The cupboards were bare except for a stack of cans. Gohan took one out and his eyes widened in surprise. He was holding a can of catfood. As far as he knew, Vegeta didn't own a cat so that meant.  
  
"Ew, gross!" He quickly replaced the can.  
  
When eight o'clock rolled around, he found himself back in front of Vegeta's bedroom door, wishing he were anywhere else. It was his fear of his mother, more than his apprehension of the mercurial Saiyan, which forced him on. He tried the doorknob and opened the door a crack, braving himself to look inside.  
  
The curtains in the bedroom were only half-closed and Gohan's eyes adjusted easily to the gloom. The bed was now occupied, with the blanket and sheets twisted around a solitary form.  
  
"Vegeta?" Gohan whispered, stepping inside and casting a wary eye around on the floor for a discarded pair of pants. His father used to just throw his sweaty training uniform into the corner at the end of a day. It always drove his mother nuts. It was his bad luck that this alien was neat and hung up his clothes when he was through with them. There was nothing out of place anywhere that the boy's straining eyes could see. The top of the dresser was bare except for a handful of change. The closet was closed and he didn't have enough guts to start rummaging through Vegeta's wardrobe. Accepting his defeat, he turned to leave-  
  
-and saw the envelope lying on the nightstand.  
  
Gohan's eyes brightened and he approached the bed with silent steps, actually holding his breath. Less than two feet away from the prize, Vegeta was sleeping soundly, his muscled arms encircling his head as if it ached. The boy knew that he had drank a lot to get through that unnerving facts-of- life speech the night before and reasoned that was probably the only reason he had been able to get this far, undetected. Grimacing with tension, he lowered his hand to pick up the papers and just as his fingers made contact, another hand lashed out to grab his wrist.  
  
Jumping about a foot off the floor, Gohan stared guiltily at Vegeta, who was shockingly awake and glaring at him, all traces of sleep completely gone. "What do you think you're doing?"  
  
Forcing himself to remain calm, the boy managed to get out, "I'm just going home. I have to take these papers back to Bulma before she realizes they're missing."  
  
"They stay right here."  
  
"I'll get in trouble-"  
  
"Tough. I did you a favor, boy, now I'm calling in the debt. I'm keeping this information. You can tell Bulma to mind her own business." He released his hold on the boy's wrist and then grabbed the envelope and rolled over on his other side, deliberately giving Gohan his back. "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out," he said shortly.  
  
"Sure, sure, okay," Gohan muttered, knowing when to take a hint. It was becoming painfully clear that he was going to face the wrath of both his mother and now Bulma for this lapse. As he was leaving the bedroom, he could think of only one thing that might make the impending tirade worthwhile. "...Vegeta?"  
  
"!!WHAT?!"  
  
"Can I, uh, keep the magazine?"  
  
He barely made it out of the apartment alive.  
  
  
  
At that precise moment, thirteen hundred kilometers away, Bulma was standing over Trunks' crib. It was very early in the morning and the baby was twitching in his sleep; his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he grappled with some unknown nightmare. There was already the hint of an indignant line forming between his eyebrows, so much like his father's. Singing a lullaby while she stroked his forehead, Bulma watched as the boy settled back into calmer sleep where safer dreams prevailed. The whole thing was developing into a ritual. Last night, he had uttered a word that had made all of the blood in her body drop to freezing.  
  
Thrashing around in his crib, Trunks beat at the air with his tiny fists and legs and was wailing his distress to anyone within earshot. Bulma came into the room at a run and she picked the babe up, rocking him. "It's alright, Trunks. Did you have a bad dream? Poor baby, you're trembling! What scared you so badly?"  
  
Gripping her hair with panicked fingers, the boy whimpered, "Fwa- Fweeza!" He started crying and clung to her desperately, his tears dampening her nightgown.  
  
Bulma was too shocked to react for a moment. At no time in her recollection could she remember anyone talking about Frieza when the boy was within earshot. "Oh my God," she said and hugged him with all of her might.  
  
Vegeta had come to his aid because he admitted to being on the receiving end of the babe's distress. Bulma now realized that the bond was not simply one-sided but a mutual sharing of minds; one warped by torture and madness, the other fresh and completely innocent. How long could each one bear absorbing such opposite emotions without going mad? Trunks seemed to be fine when he was awake but during naps, he was much as he was now. Cringing, flinching, often whimpering in his sleep.  
  
"We'll sort all of this out when I get back," Bulma promised him. Leaning in, she kissed him on the cheek and smoothened the rumpled blanket that covered him. "You'll see your daddy again and it won't just be in your dreams. One of these mornings when you wake up, he'll be right here beside me. We'll be a real family, Trunks. Just you wait and see."  
  
Gurgling contentedly in his sleep, a hint of a smile crossed the baby's face. It was a welcome sight for Bulma and she left the room and closed the door to half-mast. The maternal calmness left her face as soon as she looked down at her watch. The blue of her eyes became cold steel and her expression tightened with resolve and anger. Hurrying down the corridor, she grabbed her coat and walked out the front door.  
  
She had an appointment to keep.  
  
  
  
When Vegeta stepped out of the shower, he was still cursing under his breath as he toweled himself dry. Impertinent, conniving, insignificant little pest! It was bad enough that the boy had intruded on his privacy and practically forced himself into his apartment, uninvited. Not only that, he had broached a subject of an extremely personal nature that, once started, was not so easily finished. Vegeta could scarcely believe how thorough he had been with the boy and credited it to too many beers. Hell, he had even given away some of his techniques! To add insult to injury, Gohan had even tried to play matchmaker and sway him into returning to Capsule Corporation using guilt.  
  
Sonovabitch! As if he didn't suffer from THAT affliction enough!  
  
The final straw had been the boy sneaking into his bedroom and trying to steal back the documents he had originally stolen from Bulma. Vegeta quickly put him back in his place, or so he had thought until the brat had asked for the Penthouse as some sort of consolation prize. Leaping out of the bed, Vegeta had chased him out of the apartment, screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs and waking up everyone on the forth floor. Gohan was a blur down the stairs and ran out of the front door, taking to the air. Standing in the hallway amid the outraged exclamations of his neighbors, Vegeta saw the boy do a fly-by past the window at the end of the corridor and actually wave at him.  
  
Miserable little shit.  
  
He walked nude into the kitchen and proceeded to make himself his usual breakfast; One glass of tomato juice with six raw eggs. He downed the concoction with one gulp, adding a slight grimace when he was through. It wasn't much as far as a meal was concerned but it sure beat having to make the effort to cook. He was many things but a gourmet chef was not on the list.  
  
Shivering despite the heat in the apartment, he returned to the bedroom to get dressed. Pants and a sweater later, he was sitting apathetically on the bed wondering what to do for the day. Jogging was out of the question, with the sidewalks covered in snow and he really didn't want to venture outside. Ever since he had chosen to submerge his ki, his tolerance to cold had diminished. He felt every single temperature variation now, the chill settling into his flesh like a virus. As usual, his thoughts wandered back to the tropical Western Capital although he fought the memories. There were other places warmer than Pitch but he just couldn't bear the thought of moving again. It was isolated here but no longer the refuge he had hoped. The Brat of Kakarrot had only been the first person to make the trip to visit him. It would only be a matter of time before the others came. Growling deep in his throat, his eyes slid to the rumpled envelope lying beside the pillow.  
  
"Why won't you leave me alone?" He asked, leaning across the bed to grab the documents that Gohan had brought. "If we're through, why are you so intent on keeping tabs on me?"  
  
There was no answer and he didn't expect one. Bulma had arranged for this background check for motives all her own. It was possible that she was doing this for fear that he would be reverting to type and wanted Earth's Special Forces to know his whereabouts. For some reason, he didn't believe that was the cause of the search. Could she. Did she still care for him after all that was said and done? Was that even possible?  
  
"Bulma..." he said sadly. It was too late to try and salvage a relationship out of the wreckage that remained, if there was anything to find at all. All confessions and accusations had been voiced, apologies uttered, tensions smoothened over. There was nothing more he could do and time was running out...  
  
As he rifled through the papers, his gaze sharpened on a still photo of himself, taken when he had first arrived on earth. "What the hell?" he muttered, staring at the handwriting etched across his face.  
  
I know who the father of your child is.  
  
Vegeta was oblivious that it was Bulma's intention to keep Trunks' paternity a secret from the public. All that he knew was that the brief message seemed to convey some foreboding threat that raised the hackles at the base of his neck. He didn't like what he was feeling one little bit. Behind that page were two more photos. Scrawled across the face of his son were nine words,  
  
I think it's time we discussed paternity, don't you?  
  
His eyes scanned the date and he turned sharply to the clock radio on the nightstand. There was a two-hour time difference between Pitch and the West Coast and his brows furrowed with worry. And not just for himself for a change, either. He'd like to ignore the shadowy threat but he knew that these documents had not been intended for his eyes. Bulma's psychic scent still lingered on the papers, tinged with fear and anger and he had no doubt that she would respect the 'Come alone' warning and face the threat alone.  
  
Wadding the papers up into a ball, Vegeta threw them into a corner and paced the bedroom restlessly. His mind was a maelstrom of conflicted emotions; present animosity colliding with past affection. Bulma had stepped in on his behalf countless times; she had even saved his life! How could he, as a warrior, pride himself on honor and courage and callously leave her to her fate?  
  
The answer was surprisingly simple: He couldn't.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he turned to the window and his expression became strikingly serene now that the course of action was decided upon. He closed his eyes, collected the tattered remnants of his poisoned ki and through the pain that settled down into his being, he uttered; "Bulma... My life for yours."  
  
  
  
Halfway home, Gohan's senses informed him that someone with power was rapidly approaching and he slowed his travels when he identified the source. He was all smiles when Piccolo burst through the mantle of the nearby cumulus cloud. The Namek's face was a dark emerald color and the boy could well imagine the cause of his visible distress. "Let me guess, my mom tracked you down when she found out I was gone. I bet she was angry."  
  
"That woman is a force of nature," was all Piccolo would say on the matter. Crossing his arms, he looked down his nose at his young protégé, his scowl of displeasure gradually becoming one of curiosity. He could never stay mad for long in the presence of the easygoing youth. "You went to see Vegeta." It was not a question.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You've been with him for all of this time?"  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
The alien's eyes dropped to quickly examine the boy's form, searching for a rip in his clothing or a bruise on the flesh. The tension in his face finally eased when his search came up empty. "How is he?"  
  
"Cranky."  
  
"So he's fine, then."  
  
At that, Gohan quickly shook his head. "I don't think so. He was limping when I first saw him and he had the heat cranked in the apartment. I didn't get so much as a sense of his ki the entire time I was there. Even if he was powered down, I should have gotten something but..." He stared at his mentor, frowning with worry. "I really think he's sick, Piccolo. What can we do?"  
  
Good question, Piccolo mused, looking off into the distance while he collected his thoughts. Not for the first time, he resented the fact that he had been away from the hospital when the Saiyan had made his abrupt appearance. With his own arcane senses and Kami's wizened abilities in his psyche, he might have gathered an impression or two of what was ailing Vegeta. Right now, he didn't have so much as a clue. "Perhaps he and I are overdue for a... talk," he muttered gruffly. He would have preferred to respect the other alien's privacy and leave him alone but something was tugging urgently at his nerves. For some reason, he got the impression that time was a valuable commodity. "Gohan, tell me where he's staying and then go straight home. I don't want that mother of yours-" He suddenly flinched and the talons of his left hand flew to his temple.  
  
"Piccolo, what's wrong? What are you- Oww!" Gohan felt a galvanizing bolt of pain rip through his brain. The sensation was mercifully brief but it left him shaken and dizzy. "What- Who was that? Was it-"  
  
"Vegeta," Piccolo rumbled. Without another word, he dropped down through the clouds beneath them, his huge form becoming indistinct in the thick vapor.  
  
Following close behind, Gohan kept him within sight as they lowered their altitude. "I think there's a storm nearby," he commented, hearing a distant rumbling.  
  
"That's not thunder," the Namek corrected him. They dropped out of the cloud cover to a perfectly clear view of the earth from an altitude of about ten thousand feet. Land and mountain features were brilliantly crisp in the early morning sun, making the search that much easier. Off to their right, keeping low to the ground, was a noticeable contrail of blazing yellow that was streaking away with amazing speed. Gohan flinched at the multitude of sonic booms that followed the Saiyan's deliberate path.  
  
"He's heading West," Piccolo said gravely.  
  
  
  
As usual, the airport at the Western Capital was a bustling hub of activity with arrivals coming in from all corners of the earth. With all of the different nationalities as well as people collecting for departures, it was easy to move unnoticed amid all of the confusion and that was precisely what Bulma did. Her eyes darted from side to side for any sign of a familiar face but there was nobody who stood out. Initially, she had feared that perhaps Vegeta would have intercepted the papers that Gohan had taken from her secretary and made one of his dramatic appearances. Now that she was here, she would have welcomed any of his arrogant, nick-of-time arrivals. She knew that, rather than fly, he had driven into the city to save Trunks and gone back. He wasn't going to make the arduous trip twice in one week. If ever again. It was clear that she was on her own.  
  
The terse instructions she had been given told her to go to the duty- free shop and wait. Standing off to one side, she now did so, trying to appear unobtrusive. The last thing she needed was some photo-happy tourist to recognize her and start taking pictures. She kept her head bowed and looked around uneasily. It was eight o'clock on the dot and so far, nothing was happening. Perhaps there was another duty-free shop on the far side of the airport? What would happen if she didn't show up, as instructed? What if-  
  
Something hard settled into the small of her back and a hand squeezed her shoulder. "Don't say a word," breathed a masculine voice in her ear. "Just walk ahead, very slowly."  
  
Trying to will her legs to move, Bulma tried to remain calm as possible. She and her unknown antagonist made a deliberate path across the busy hallway to a men's washroom. There was a sign on the door that said the facilities were closed for cleaning and no one even noticed when they slipped inside. "People are so gullible. They believe everything they read," remarked the voice, chuckling lightly.  
  
"Who are you? What do you want?" Bulma said in as firm a voice as she could manage. Ahead of her, all that was present to bear witness to the exchange were barren stalls.  
  
"It's pretty obvious what I want. I'm not going through all of this trouble for my health."  
  
"Money."  
  
"That's right. I figure you'll pay big to prevent the public from knowing the heir of Capsule Corporation was fathered by a murdering alien."  
  
Bulma sniffed. "So you have a few pictures and a vivid imagination. The local tabloid might give you a coupon for a free car wash with that story."  
  
"Oh, I've got more than that. I've got videos showing the two of you together."  
  
"I've had a lot of people stay at the Capsule Corporation headquarters building-"  
  
"Not there. I'm talking about something far more intimate, Ms. Briefs. If you get my meaning. You enjoy being on top, don't you?"  
  
Unnaturally cowed by the innuendo, Bulma could only whisper, "Who are you?"  
  
The hand left her shoulder and she felt the presence back off a few feet. "Turn around."  
  
Drawing a shuddering breath, she squared her shoulders and finally collected enough nerve to chance a look. When she managed the feat, her eyes widened in immediate recognition. "You!"  
  
  
  
Plowing headlong through the base of a mountain did nothing to sway Vegeta from his deliberate course westwards. Travelling low over the terrain was an attack procedure that had been drilled into him since he had been old enough to fly. This close to the ground, no radar could single him out and it was impossible for the enemy to spot him until it was too late. He had used this routine for countless purging missions and right now, he allowed himself to adopt the mindset that he was on an assignment. It lessened the need for conscious thought and he settled into autopilot mode as he flew, lost to the singing agony between his ears.  
  
He had managed the transformation to Super Saiyan but there was no telling how precarious the change actually was. The drain on his reserves was enormous but he forced himself on by sheer will alone. The front of his sweater was soaked in gore and the landmarks that blurred past were all seen through a blood-red veil. The painful thudding of his heart seemed to adopt a rhythmic chant: bul-MAH, bul-MAH, bul-MAH-  
  
The worst thing was; despite the adrenaline flowing through his veins, that heartbeat was slowing down.  
  
  
  
Bulma couldn't believe that the person who had been her tormentor was HIM! In a time when she had thought that she had no friends or family to turn to, this man had helped her without asking for anything else in return. Or so she had thought.  
  
"You bastard," she hissed.  
  
Adopting a wounded expression, Doctor Phillip Reznik lifted an eyebrow and added a wry shrug. "Sticks and stones, Ms. Briefs. I could only tolerate treating over-the-hill actors at the Hammorski Plaza for so long."  
  
"I trusted you! You helped Vegeta when he was sick! How could you turn around and blackmail me?" Bulma shouted at him.  
  
"Do you think you're the only one I've done this to? One of my past 'clients' only paid me cocaine and when I got into that shit, I lost my practice! I'm nailing every fatcat who ever set foot in that hellhole. Practically every hotel room I visited, I left a microscopic video transmitter behind. You and your 'companion' made great viewing pleasure. I'll admit, it just stayed in my own personal collection until I saw the Cell Games. That's when I clued in to just who your 'companion' really was. I was ecstatic."  
  
"I'll just bet you were," Bulma said through tense lips. The sense of betrayal that she was feeling was inexpressible. When Vegeta had been suffering through the V'Nhar, this man had been her only reassurance that he would eventually recover. The thought of him watching their private lovemaking was enough to make her physically ill. What would happen if those tapes were released to the media? She would be ostracized from society. Vegeta would be hunted down like an animal. Poor Trunks would be ridiculed for the rest of his life. The Capsule Corporation Empire would go down in flames. "What do you want?"  
  
Reznik, sensing that he had her complete attention, beamed happily when he announced, "I'm not a greedy man, Ms. Briefs. I'm not interested in bankrupting you. What do you say to, uhmmmm... one hundred million zeni? How does that sound?"  
  
"It sounds like you're insane," Bulma said bluntly.  
  
Throwing his head back, the man released a healthy bout of laughter. "I may be stoned but I'm not a madman! I think you're getting off pretty cheap and you know it, too. There's a lot at stake here."  
  
"I can't just write you a check-"  
  
"I know that, which is why I wanted us to meet face to face. Best that you know who you're dealing with first. We can hammer out the details for a later exchange."  
  
"If I gave you the money, you would hand over the tapes?" Bulma ventured reluctantly.  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"How do I know that you won't make copies?"  
  
"You don't. You'll just have to trust me."  
  
Bulma saw the crafty smile cross his face at that statement and realized that this nightmare would never go away. She could pay him off a dozen times over and he would just keep crawling back, looking for more. "No deal. Screw you, you bastard."  
  
That lecherous grin became wider. "That can be arranged if you want to be shown how serious I am," he said, walking towards her.  
  
Backing up until her back collided with the wall, Bulma looked for an exit but the only way out was the door. And it was behind Reznik. "If you come any closer, I'll scream!"  
  
"No, you won't," the Doctor said pleasantly and leveled the gun he had in his pocket, at her forehead. "I think you need to be reminded who's in charge here. Why don't you gobble me like you did your alien lover? I think I'd like that..." He was in the process of unbuckling his belt when there was an explosion from somewhere in the building and the floor shuddered beneath them.  
  
While Reznik cursed in confusion, Bulma knew instinctively who was responsible for the attack. It was an inexplicable insight but at that instant, she could actually feel the Saiyan's overwhelming rage and he was very close to her. She raised the volume in her mind as high as it would go, hoping- praying that there were still some tendrils of a mental bond left and screamed with all of her might-  
  
!!OHGODVEGETAIMINHEREHEHASAGUNPLEASEHELPMEHURRY!!  
  
Radiating her distress in a constant wave, she was dimly aware that screams outside of the washroom were getting louder. Without warning, the door was blown off of its hinges. Bulma's initial cry of relief and gratitude became one of horror at the mere sight of her savior. Even Reznik took a wandering step backwards, his face confused and shocked.  
  
Vegeta had lost his hold on the Super Saiyan form the moment he had closed in on the airport. Unable to slow his descent, he had collided with an airliner that was taxiing up to a gate and caused the both of them to go crashing into the terminal. His right arm was a mangled ruin where portions of splintered bone jutted out at odd angles and he was dragging his left leg. The entire area beneath his nose to his waist was coated in blood. Supporting himself as he staggered inside, he left bloody handprints along the wall of the men's room. Throughout all of the pain and hardship, his rheumy eyes never wavered from the Doctor's face. He was squinting, trying to place the person and not able to make a connection.  
  
"It-it's the Doctor who treated you at the Hammorski Plaza," Bulma told him, forcing herself to remain calm. Oh God, he looked so awful! "He has videos of us together. If I don't pay him money, he's going to give them to all the networks."  
  
"That a fact," the Saiyan ground out from between clenched teeth.  
  
Finally overcoming his paralysis, Reznik raised the gun up and howled in pain when the Saiyan moved in and snapped the man's wrist with one well- aimed blow. The weapon slid along the smooth floor and Bulma kicked it out of sight beneath one of the urinals. Clutching his wounded arm, the roles were now reversed, as the Doctor was the person with his back against the far wall.  
  
Moving alongside of the stricken Saiyan, Bulma wrapped an arm gently around Vegeta's midriff and all at once the strength went out of his legs. He toppled to the floor and started retching, coughing up blood and bile. All she could do was rub his back while he suffered through the spasms. Reznik was all but forgotten until he remarked; "Well, this won't do at all."  
  
"Leave us alone, you bastard!" She screamed.  
  
The doctor hunkered down in front of them and frowned. "It looks like my meal ticket is dying."  
  
"That's... right," Vegeta confirmed, raising his head with effort. "But I'm not dying alone."  
  
Bulma blinked in astonishment. "Vegeta! What-"  
  
Before anyone could react, the Saiyan propelled himself forward and tackled the doctor. His momentum carried them both through the cinderblock wall and out into Customs where they landed in a pile of luggage that had been confiscated earlier. The baggage broke their fall but it was too late for either of them. The collision had shattered Reznik's spine like glass and he gasped his final breaths like a fish out of water, wondering where things had gone so terribly wrong.  
  
Picking her way quickly through the rubble, Bulma ignored the tortured wheezes from the Doctor's twitching form and knelt beside Vegeta's still body. She tried to be mindful of his injuries as she turned him over but it was next to impossible and he weakly moaned in pain when she raised his head into her lap. "It's going to be alright, Vegeta. We'll get some help for you. You'll be just fine-" She turned to the people who were standing around and watching them. "Somebody call an ambulance! Please! He- He's-" She couldn't bring herself to say the word. Without warning, she started to cry.  
  
Vegeta's eyes fluttered open at the sound and he stared up at her, both eyes badly bloodshot. The right side of his face seemed to droop and his speech was slurred, "...no tears... for me..."  
  
"I can't help it. You can call me a weak little woman all you want," she sputtered, wiping her face self-consciously.  
  
He actually managed a brief, lopsided smile, "...many things but... not weak..." His eyes slipped closed again and his tortured form went limp in her arms.  
  
"Vegeta-" A sense of alarm swept through her and she felt for a pulse along his jawline. Her inquiring fingers found nothing but rapidly chilling flesh. "!!VEGETA!!"  
  
Bare moments later, Piccolo and Gohan emerged from the demolished wall and halted in their tracks. The entire Customs area was packed to capacity but there was scarcely a sound among the people who had gathered. In the distance, but growing louder, were the piercing wails of approaching sirens. Forcing his way through the silent throng, Piccolo emerged into the center of the grim scene and his features dissolved into one of acute disbelief.  
  
Oblivious of the attention, Bulma was cradling Vegeta's still form protectively in her arms, her body racked by sobs of loss. She and the floor were coated in his blood.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Twelve: The fate of Vegeta. 


	12. Piccolo's Worst Fear

Two Sides To A Story Chapter Twelve  
  
"Hang on, Vegeta. Just...hang on."  
  
Splitting the sound barrier with the acceleration of his flight, Piccolo braved a glance at the bundle he was holding protectively in his strong arms. He had wrapped Vegeta's motionless body in his cape and derived no sense of calm at how the previously immaculate white fabric was gradually turning scarlet. Behind him, Gohan had transformed into his Super Saiyan form just to keep up with his great speed. He was carrying Bulma and neither was talking, keeping their eyes trained solely on the Namek and his precious burden. There was a bare hint of ki that still clung to the Saiyan's battered frame, like a flickering ember clinging tenaciously to the head of a matchstick. Piccolo maintained his personal aura around them in an attempt to nurture that fading spark of life but it was a race against time. Vegeta wasn't breathing and his heart had beaten its last while in Bulma's arms. Who knew how long the alien could last in that state without being irreparably damaged?  
  
At the airport, when he had first witnessed Bulma's grief over the passing Saiyan, Piccolo's first reaction had been shock, followed by remorse and then an odd kind of finality. Vegeta had obviously come to the earth woman's rescue and sacrificed his life for her. The circumstances of the conflict eluded him; there wasn't any indication of a real firefight and the opponent seemed to just be an out of shape human, but the result was the same. At long last, the troubled alien had found his peace in the embrace of his beloved and passed on to the afterlife. It was a worthy end for a warrior.  
  
At the mere sight, Kami came to life in the back of his mind where he still resided and began panicking for no good reason. Piccolo couldn't understand what all of the fuss was about, but the old fool was actually assuming control and forcing their body forward, against his own will. The elder Namek was raving on about how it wasn't Vegeta's destiny to pass on in this untimely manner; that he still had a valuable role to fulfil in earth's future.  
  
'What the hell are you talking about?' Piccolo snarled at the other alien.  
  
What he got back were vague images of a hall of mirrors and Vegeta, as he walked slowly from one distorted image to another. Obviously they were memories from Kami's past that he was sharing with his reluctant double. All of a sudden, the Saiyan turned to him and said coldly, "Eight years from now, maybe ten. I'm going to die again anyway, aren't I?"  
  
Sucking in breath as if he had been punched, Piccolo began to get a sense of the urgency. Practically knocking Bulma aside, he unclasped his cloak, covered up the Saiyan's body and took off while the grieving woman wailed her anguish. "Take her with us, Gohan. Let's go!" Without a second's hesitation, he plowed through the nearby wall and into open air, racing away until his form was a mere blur.  
  
'I hope you know what you're talking about', Piccolo directed to the elder Namek in his mind. Damned if he didn't sense that Kami was practically strutting with smug satisfaction. The pair had never gotten along at the best of times and now the old bastard could finally boast how he had manipulated his younger counterpart into doing his wishes.  
  
Submerging his aggravation with difficulty, Piccolo thundered with his mind: '!!DENDE!! You had better be waiting for us when we get there, you little sprout! You hear me?!'  
  
Almost immediately, the answer came back: 'I'm here for you, Piccolo. Please hurry!'  
  
Three minutes later, Dende's Lookout came into view on the horizon. It was a mystical half moon shape anchored to the earth by a cable of purest gold. Only those with ki could catch a glimpse of the revered tower and only a scant handful were ever permitted to step near its palatial grace. This had been Kami's home for over three hundred years and during that time he had witnessed all sorts of struggles as humankind evolved below his watchtower. He had played more roles than that of an observer, to the humans he had been God, and the present path that they traveled had more or less been dictated by his benevolent actions. Since uniting with Piccolo, the mantle of Earth's Guardian was now on Dende's young shoulders. Being no older than Gohan, it was an enormous burden of responsibilities that one would think the little Namek would be ill prepared to handle. Thanks in part to his own surprising maturity and the wizened guidance of the ancient Mr. Popo, it was a mantle that he wore with amazing ease.  
  
He was waiting on the dais of the Lookout when Piccolo came to an abrupt stop, quickly dropping down beside him. Without needing to be told what to do, the young Namek unwrapped the grisly prize and his features tightened at the sight of all of the blood that covered Vegeta's body. Without hesitation, he pulled off the gore-soaked sweater so his hands could touch the Saiyan's flesh directly. Nearby, Gohan landed and Bulma staggered over on unsteady legs and practically collapsed beside them. "Can you help him, Dende? Can you heal him?"  
  
"Hush," Piccolo told her.  
  
Absorbed in his task, Dende ignored the exchange as he ran his glowing hands along the Saiyan's still body. His eyes were closed while he mentally scrutinized every pore of Vegeta's wounded flesh. "He is very far away from me but not lost. Not yet," the wise youth finally murmured. "I can heal the recent wounds he sustained and the past trauma of the projectile injuries-"  
  
Bulma snapped her head up. "Projectile-? He was shot?! Where?"  
  
Very gently and with Piccolo's help, Dende rolled Vegeta over on his side and exposed the bullet wounds that peppered the Saiyan's broad back. Bulma was still counting the scars when Dende returned him to his prone position for healing purposes. "Ohmigod," she wailed, taking her face into her shaking hands. "Who could have done that to him? For what reason?"  
  
The sight of the injuries intensified Piccolo's dour expression and he struggled to maintain his composure. He had never cared much for humans at the best of times and although Gohan had managed to temper him, that animosity still hadn't changed. For unknown reasons, Vegeta had been shot in the back and the cowardice behind the action unnerved him beyond words. "Dende?" he prompted when the younger alien lapsed into remorseful silence.  
  
The small healer had his hand on Vegeta's forehead and was visibly trembling. When he finally looked up, his huge eyes were actually brimming with tears. "Piccolo-"  
  
"Out with it!"  
  
"He... has been poisoned," the Namek rasped out. "It is terrible, it's been feasting on the part of his brain where the ki resides. Even now, it devours what precious little remains."  
  
"...oh god..." All of this was too much for Bulma to bear. She slumped backward into Gohan's arms, her features pale and waxy from delayed shock. The boy held her awkwardly as she greyed out and looked helplessly between the two Namek's. "Can you heal him?" he asked as their silence stretched on.  
  
Instinctively, Dende looked up to his older kinsman for direction. "The physical injuries are of no consequence," he told Piccolo. "It's the mental trauma that worries me. This has been progressing for months unchecked and now the damage to his mind is... extensive. I might only be healing a shell."  
  
Readying a response, both Namek's felt that imperceptible flicker of ki start to fade from Vegeta's essence. "There's no more time for debate, Dende. Do what you can," Piccolo told him in a voice very different from his usual rough manner. It was almost a comforting purr.  
  
Offering no resistance, only a curt nod, Dende closed his eyes again and concentrated all of his body and soul on healing the tortured Saiyan. Standing possessively over the pair, Piccolo betrayed a rare look of remorse to Gohan before glowering out at the azure sky. Cradling Bulma's insensate body, the boy could only swallow and watch Dende's glowing form as he silently prayed Vegeta to get better.  
  
  
  
Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, Piccolo didn't move from his place next to Vegeta's bedside. Dende's thorough healing had taken all of the resources the little alien could spare and it still hadn't been enough. All of the Saiyan's physical wounds and recent scars had been erased, as if his past suffering had never happened but he had not roused despite their attempts to wake him. There was damage to his mind that Dende admitted he couldn't reach. It was unknown how far that impairment went, or to what extent it might cripple the proud alien when he actually woke up.  
  
IF he woke up, the Namek corrected himself and felt a curious sensation that resembled grief.  
  
After the healing, Vegeta's heart started beating and he was breathing on his own, which should have been a good sign. It was the lack of his stoic presence that seemed to worry Piccolo and, to a lesser extent, Gohan. In the body that lay on the marble ground of the Lookout, they could sense no essence of the Saiyan they had reluctantly grown to accept. It was as Dende as said; It appeared to be only a soulless shell.  
  
With unusual care, Piccolo picked him up and carried him into the Palace, settling him into the master bedroom where the Saiyan could rest in better comfort. It was where Bulma was now, sitting on the edge of the bed. She was holding one of his hands and stroking the short bristles along his scalp while she examined his features for any sign of consciousness. Vegeta's face was relaxed and that only seemed to worry her more. Even in sleep, his face usually contained some degree of tension but right now, it was alarmingly slack. He looked young and defenseless, his small frame almost lost in the king sized bed and it's affluent covers.  
  
In a voice very different from her usual excited rush, the heiress said bleakly; "He should have woken up by now."  
  
At a loss as to what degree of comfort was expected from him, the huge alien could only offer; "He was dead. I think his condition is an improvement, don't you?"  
  
"Something's wrong," Bulma insisted, raising her clear blue eyes to the brooding figure standing over her. "I don't have any powers and even I can sense that much. What aren't you telling me, Piccolo?"  
  
"Bulma-"  
  
"What do you know?"  
  
"I don't know anything!" Piccolo snapped. "But, I have suspicions..."  
  
"Please tell me."  
  
"Part of Dende's training to replace Kami requires extensive study into Earth's composition. That includes all aspects of geography, geology, chemistry- Basically imagine an entire repository of knowledge housed in one singular being- That is the role that Kami plays to this world."  
  
"I didn't know that. Go on," Bulma urged.  
  
"Dende has developed a powerful symbiotic relationship to the essence that this world radiates. If something is foreign or alien, he can sense it almost immediately." Staring down at the Saiyan's still form, Piccolo collected his thoughts on the matter for a long moment. "Whatever it was that poisoned Vegeta, it was not some naturally occurring chemical. Dende said that it reeked of alien tampering."  
  
Bulma's eyes grew very wide. "Could he identify it at all?"  
  
Piccolo's face grew as hard as stone. Finally, he decided to drop the bombshell; "Dende said that the taint reminded him of Frieza."  
  
Sucking in a quick breath, Bulma appeared about to scream before the Namek cut in, "He couldn't be specific. It could be nothing-"  
  
"Nothing?! Look at him! Do you honestly think something on Earth could cripple him this badly?"  
  
Casting a darting glance at Vegeta, Piccolo said nothing. He didn't have to.  
  
"Frieza," Bulma hissed. That one name was the epitome of everything wrong that had happened between her and Vegeta up to this very point. The tyrant was responsible for torturing the Saiyan until he was a nightmarish copy of his tormentor. He had erased a personality that might have been open to concepts of love and friendship and family and replaced it with only cruelty and hatred. Even from hell, the creature haunted Vegeta's dreams and dictated his actions, nearly driving the Saiyan mad from the strain of trying to cope. Now, it seemed as if he had managed to find a way to bring his favorite toy back into his perverted embrace...  
  
"Even from the grave, he's found a way to get back at you," she whispered, caressing Vegeta's pale cheek as she struggled with tears.  
  
"I don't understand how that's possible," Piccolo muttered.  
  
"A microscopic pellet implanted in his brain. A manufactured DNA sequence timed to release at a certain date. Who knows? What's done is done..." Bulma said forlornly. "I want to be left alone with him."  
  
"Bulma, if-when he wakes up, he might not-"  
  
"Please. Just for a little while."  
  
Struggling between his duty and friendship, Piccolo found himself unable to look away from the entreaty etched in those wide, cerulean eyes. The emotion visible there was huge and inexpressible, the sensation he felt was similar to drowning.  
  
All of her soul is exposed to the world without hesitation, with no thought of consequence, Piccolo realized in that instant. This is what draws Vegeta to her like a moth to a flame. She replaces what he lacks, making them complete in virtually all aspects. Her, the passion. He, the power. Together, they are an unstoppable union of wills and strengths. All this time, I thought Gohan was the sole person capable of keeping Vegeta in check. Little did I know that person was Bulma all along...  
  
"I'll be right outside," the Namek said at last.  
  
Bulma watched the huge alien leave the room and close the door. Through burning eyes, she maintained her bedside vigil and kept all of her attention trained solely on the person beside her. "None of this makes any sense," she said raggedly. "You've been suffering for months and you never told a soul. I don't understand why, Vegeta? Is your pride so important that you would die before asking for help from me? Do you hate me that much?"  
  
She scrubbed at the tears on her face with a tattered Kleenex. "But you came to help Trunks when no one asked you to. You rescued me from that horrible man! Actions have always meant more to you than words. You wouldn't have helped us if you didn't care."  
  
Leaning over him, she examined every pore of his face. "I know that you love me, Vegeta," she whispered, as if sharing a deep secret. "You think that admitting it will make you weak but it's already your greatest strength. I wish I could make you understand that. When you wake up, we're going to have a long talk. Can you wake up for me now? Please? You're scaring me."  
  
Encouraged by past fairytales where perhaps she could rouse her sleeping Prince, Bulma placed her lips over his own and kissed him. There was no miraculous reaction to the innocuous gesture. No change in his slow breathing. With a sob, she laid her forehead against his and let her tears fall on his pale cheeks. "Come back to me, Vegeta," she whispered. "This can't be how it ends for us, I won't allow it. You have to come back. Please-" She lost her battle with her grief and succumbed to heart- wrenching sobs that shook her entire body. Burrowing her face into the blankets, her tears soaked the fabric while the Saiyan prince slumbered on, oblivious.  
  
Watching all of this through a crack in the door, Piccolo pulled it closed and gave the pair their privacy. He was a conflicted mess of emotions and was genuinely at a loss as to how to cope with them. Kami had endowed the younger Namek with very few personal traits when he had chosen to divide his essence and give his double the burden of his own negativity. All that Piccolo had known were darkness and evil. It wasn't until decades later that Gohan had managed to break through that wall of rage and open it to more honorable assets. Combining with Nail on Namek had reinforced that sense of honor and dedication and his final reuniting with Kami had brought everything full circle. Gone was the Namek dedicated to destruction and in his place was a being that was the repository of three completely different souls. The tender scene between Bulma and Vegeta invoked sensations of inexplicable sadness and vulnerability that he was ill prepared to handle. There was only one person he could turn to for guidance.  
  
As he stepped out of the palace to look for Gohan, his sharp senses caught traces of familiar ki. He submerged a grumble of displeasure when he opened the doors and saw that Yamcha and Tien had joined the boy, Dende and Mr. Popo at the foot of the stairs. There was no doubt that Vegeta's agonizing transformation into Super Saiyan had tripped everybody's mental radar and made them come running.  
  
"Is it true?" Yamcha asked as Piccolo walked down the stairs. "Vegeta was poisoned?"  
  
"It appears so," the Namek said neutrally. "Bulma is with him now."  
  
The young warrior immediately turned to enter the palace and the alien snatched hold of his upper arm with a grip of steel. "I don't need to remind you what happened the last time you interfered between those two," Piccolo was almost snarling and Yamcha's face went visibly pale at the sight. "Be a friend to her in this crisis, if you must, but try nothing more. I'm warning you."  
  
Sputtering with embarrassment, Yamcha tried to get his arm free with no success. "I'm not going to try and seduce her! I've made my peace with their relationship. I just want to comfort my friend, that's all."  
  
Glowering down at him, Piccolo finally released his hold and stepped back. Casting him one more wary look, Yamcha briefly massaged his arm and then went into the palace without another word. Before any of the others could make any comment, the Namek spoke up; "Gohan, you have to go home and confront your mother. Tell her and the Briefs what has happened and return here, if she'll let you."  
  
"Not much luck there," the boy muttered distinctly. By the time he returned to Capsule Corporation, his raging mother would probably wrap him in chains. "But I'll try get back as soon as I can."  
  
Offering one curt nod of acknowledgement, Piccolo watched his protégé take to the air and speed off in a westward course. His solemn gaze then slid over to Tien, who had been steadily glaring at him ever since he had stepped outside. "What's on your mind?"  
  
"Vegeta was dead," the immense human retorted. "Why didn't the two of you let him stay that way?" Tien turned his accusing gaze to Dende, who recoiled in shock.  
  
"He was not yet lost to the afterlife," the little Namek was trying to explain. "There was still a salvageable essence for me to work with-"  
  
"That's not what he's talking about," Piccolo cut in. He directed his ebony regard to the human and asked, "You still hate Vegeta that much?"  
  
"Yes," Tien responded, there was no denying it.  
  
"Enough to let your hatred ruin a family and doom the future?"  
  
While the large fighter visibly faltered with that cryptic statement, Piccolo chose to hammer away at his indecision. "Vegeta was not the Saiyan who killed either you or Chiaotzu. Your battle is with Nappa but because he's dead, your rage is focused on his companion. It's a senseless feud that has to end right here and now."  
  
"Vegeta ordered him to-to-"  
  
"Vegeta gave Nappa free rein to do what he wanted. For the most part, he stood back and just watched the fighting. Chiaotzu sacrificed himself in a poorly orchestrated move that only made Nappa angrier. You died because you retaliated out of grief. Vegeta had nothing to do with your incompetence or either of your deaths."  
  
Tien's eyes narrowed into spiteful slits. "I see that you aliens all have some sort of support group. Isn't that cozy. Since when did you become Vegeta's advocate?"  
  
"That's not an easy question to answer. However, Mirai Trunks has returned to his timeline and Bulma has no ki for a proper defense. I guess that leaves me. You're going to have to deal with it."  
  
"One murderous alien bent on the destruction of Earth, protecting another," Tien ground out from between clenched teeth. "I shouldn't be surprised."  
  
"I thought that you had forgiven me for my past sins."  
  
"... I have but-"  
  
"But Vegeta is not worthy of the same respect?"  
  
"He's different."  
  
"In what way? How many times did I fight you as the Demon King? How much damage did I cause over all of those years? Vegeta was on Earth less than three hours the first time he came here. After that, he fought along side of us as an ally."  
  
"Is that what you call it!?!" Tien shouted back in frustration. "On Namek, he only allied with you so that he could take Frieza's place and get his damned immortality. He never fought with us against the Androids; it was just him showing off his stupid Super Saiyan transformation. He even let Cell reach his complete state to satisfy his own morbid curiosity. He's always caused more harm than good. You should have made sure he stayed dead, Piccolo!"  
  
"It's not so cut and dry as that and you know it!" The Namek growled, on the edge of serious anger now. "He repented just before he died on Namek. If he hadn't implanted the concept of the Super Saiyan into Gokou's psyche, Gokou might never have made that ascension to defeat Frieza. If he hadn't come back to Earth and fathered Trunks, this debate would be moot because we would all be dead by now! Vegeta has made many mistakes but he tries in his own way to make up for them. He ultimately aided Gohan to finally destroy Cell when the rest of us were powerless. How convenient that you should ignore that truth!"  
  
Tien appeared to absorb that information and Piccolo felt a glimmer of hope that his words had been accepted until the fighter grumbled peevishly, "He should have died during the Cell Games instead of Gokou."  
  
"Gokou had the option of coming back. He declined. Vegeta's own time is coming but this was not it, Tien."  
  
Catching a hidden double meaning behind those words, the human frowned at him. "What are you trying to say?"  
  
"I was content to let him pass into the afterlife but it was Kami who roused me to the potential consequences if he were to die prematurely. Apparently, Vegeta has a destiny that has not yet been fulfilled."  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Tien yelled.  
  
Crossing his arms, Piccolo submerged his growing displacency towards the human with difficulty. "Your mind is closed to everything but your own hate. Think on what we've said and maybe, just maybe, we will talk when you are more receptive."  
  
"Piccolo, I want to know what you meant- Piccolo!" Before Tien's eyes, the Namek tucked his legs underneath of him and assumed a meditative pose, purposely tuning him out. Not appreciating the slight, the fighter turned to Dende for guidance only to find that that little alien was quickly walking away with Mr. Popo, trying not to be too obvious about it.  
  
Releasing an exhale of breath, Tien walked to the edge of the Lookout and stared out at the faultless sky. The words that Piccolo had spoken weighed heavily on his mind. He closed his eyes and reluctantly started to sort through some of the mess as best that he could. None of it was easy. When he had sensed Vegeta's transformation four hours ago, the only thought that came to mind was that the Saiyan was up to no good. It had never even dawned on him that there could be another reason for it. Even when he had witnessed the alien's sacrifice to his stricken son, he had figured some darker motive behind the act.  
  
'It's a senseless feud that has to end right here and now', Piccolo cautioned him.  
  
Yes, Tien mused sensibly. Perhaps it does.  
  
  
  
As urgent as the news was that he had to relate to his mother and the Briefs, Gohan was not rushing himself. He was, in fact, taking his sweet time as he tried desperately to come up with some excuse that might possibly placate his mother's chronic instability. "Look, mom, it was dark and I don't like to travel at night so I thought that I'd crash at- at-" Vegeta's place? That would only incense her further! "I was lonely and wanted to go visit Vegeta-" Heck, at that rate he might as well just break down and tell her the truth; "Mom, I was getting woodies in my sleep and scared until Vegeta showed me some porn and told me how to jerk off. I'm feeling much better now, really-"  
  
Nothing like giving your pregnant mother a major heart attack!  
  
All of this was preying heavily on the youth's mind. So much, in fact, that he almost collided with Krillin who was hovering midair, obviously waiting for him.  
  
"Whoa!" The small fighter cried, barely ducking to the side as the boy rushed past. "Hey Gohan! What's going on?"  
  
"Oh Krillin, it's a mess," Gohan said, coming back to the other man's side. "I ran away from home to go visit Vegeta and things have just gone downhill from there..." He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and looked away, embarrassed to show his tears.  
  
Very gently, his friend reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Tell me," he urged. He could see that the son of his best friend was terribly distraught but he was unprepared for the story that followed, or its tragic conclusion. "Vegeta really died?!"  
  
"Dende brought him back but there's still something wrong," Gohan managed to get out between sniffs. "It was much worse then we thought, Krillin. We all figured that Vegeta just got into a fight-"  
  
"-Golly, how could we ever have made that mistake?" The bald fighter teased, rolling his eyes dramatically.  
  
"Krillin!"  
  
"Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood."  
  
"... Vegeta had a bunch of scars on his back from gunfire," Gohan said bluntly. "There was a poison in his system that was feeding off of his ki. He's been in agony for the last few months. It's no time for jokes!"  
  
"Sorry, Gohan," he said again. "So, how's he doing now?"  
  
"He won't wake up. Nobody knows what to do."  
  
"Has anyone gone to see Korin?" Krillin asked. When Gohan blinked at him, he continued, "Well, Vegeta can get down a Senzu bean now. Maybe that will finish up the healing that he needs."  
  
Very slowly, the boy shook his head. "We used the last ones at the Cell Games, remember? It takes a year for Korin to grow a new crop and it's only been six months."  
  
Lost in thought for a moment, Krillin shrugged, "It wouldn't hurt to go check anyway. You heading home?"  
  
"Yeah," the boy admitted. "I'd sooner battle Cell again then face my mom right now. She's gonna be pissed."  
  
Krillin did a double take. "She's -what?!"  
  
This time it was Gohan's turn to apologize. "Sorry. I spent the night listening to Vegeta talk. The swearing... sort of rubs off on you."  
  
"You better watch it or your mother is going to have the entire soap aisle in your mouth," the bald fighter said with bewilderment. He wasn't sure what was odder; that the boy was adopting the characteristics of his father's nemesis or the fact that Vegeta had actually entertained the youth.  
  
"I don't doubt it," Gohan said. "I have to get going. Every minute I spend stalling just makes it worse."  
  
"Sure, Gohan. I'll go check with Korin and then I'll go see how Vegeta is doing. You coming back?"  
  
The boy nodded. "If I'm still alive."  
  
Krillin burst out laughing and, at the infectious sound, the boy had to betray a small smile. "Just be humble, tell the truth and don't give Chi Chi any back-talk. Remember, I've known her longer than you have. Just let her scream herself out, she'll quickly come around."  
  
"Right! Thanks Krillin." The boy started powering up for a hasty flight home.  
  
Tapping his bottom lips with his finger, the smaller fighter added, "Of course, it might help to duck..."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I used to be six feet tall until I went up against your mother," Krillin said and added a quick wink to the joke.  
  
Laughing out loud, Gohan passed him a wave and sped off, heading back to the Western Capital. The expression of good humor quickly left Krillin's youthful features once the boy was out of sight. Like the others, he had felt the blazing wave of pain rip through his mind that carried Vegeta's ki signature and was compelled to see what all of the fuss was about. He couldn't believe how badly things had gotten; first Trunks, now this. Bulma was probably in hysterics over the situation and needed her friends support in this crisis. Without a second's hesitation, he powered up his ki and headed for Korin's Place.  
  
Behind him, carefully maintaining a distance of several kilometers, another individual was in deliberate pursuit.  
  
  
  
Shifting his weight on his feet, Yamcha tried to submerge a yawn and had to bite down on it before he was detected. Beside him, Bulma was concentrating all of her attention on the comatose Saiyan and completely ignoring the fighter. Several times, Yamcha had tried to engage her in conversation and got back only monosyllabic responses. It wasn't what he had expected with his arrival. There was always a part of him that hoped for some miraculous reunion between them. Bulma's fling with Vegeta had been well over a year ago but damned if she still wasn't pining away for him, struggling with tears over a masochistic alien who couldn't be bothered to give her the time of day.  
  
It really WAS true, Yamcha brooded. Nice guys DID finish last.  
  
The reasons behind his animosity towards the alien were different than Tien's but by no means less potent. Until the Saiyans had come to Earth, he had never lost a fight before. By his side, had been the most beautiful, richest and smartest woman on the entire planet and she had loved him with all of her heart and soul. He had been one of the strongest fighters alive. Within three years, he had lost his life, his love and his dignity and it was all because of Vegeta. How could he NOT hate the man?  
  
Sure, he had made his piece with the situation. If he didn't want to die again, he pretty much had to. Vegeta could kill him with his little finger if he so desired and the both of them knew it. The real question was; would he? Everyone had feared that once the Saiyan made the ascension to Super Saiyan he would become as credible a threat as Cell. For a short while, it actually seemed possible that would happen. Then Cell had killed Mirai Trunks and Vegeta had gone berserk from grief, displaying a side of his personality that none of them could have fathomed. Years earlier, Yamcha had caught a glimpse of that emotion when he had been on the receiving end of a Gallic Gun blast. He had been spared and had never forgotten the reason why.  
  
'Consider it a gift. For HER. It'll be the only one I'll ever give', Vegeta had told him.  
  
At the time, Yamcha had considered it a fluke. The Saiyan had been hurt, weakened for some unknown reason and the sole recipient of Bulma's affections. The fighter knew intimately how infectious her love could be; it was almost like a drug that addicted every pore until she was the only thing that mattered in the entire universe. Even now, there was a part of Yamcha that yearned for her, and probably always would. They had both lost their virginity in each others embrace and had dated exclusively for over ten years. He still loved her but now he had to have the maturity to step back and let her love another.  
  
But he didn't have to like it.  
  
"Bulma," he said at last. "It's getting late. You should go home and get some rest."  
  
Managing a numb shake of her head, Bulma mumbled, "I'm not leaving him."  
  
"There's Trunks to consider. He needs his mother."  
  
"I-I don't-" Bulma suddenly remembered how receptive the babe had been to Vegeta's thoughts and sat up with a gasp. How had Trunks reacted to his father's death? What was he doing now? "Oh god!" She cried and dug into her purse for her portable vidphone, dialing the numbers for home with a trembling finger. It barely rang once before it was picked up.  
  
"!!BULMA!!" Her mother screamed into the tiny screen. The blonde's face was a mess of smeared mascara where haphazard tracks down either cheek. For the first time in her life, she actually looked her age. "Gohan just got here and told us the news- It's horrible! Just horrible!"  
  
Bulma was wincing but it wasn't just from listening to her distraught mother babble on. In the background, Chi Chi was yelling at Gohan and behind that racket was another sound that the heiress immediately recognized. As she suspected, Trunks was reacting to all of the stress the only way that he could and his voice contained an almost hysterical pitch. He was actually screeching. It wasn't a sound that Bulma had ever heard before. "Mom, what's wrong with Trunks? I can hear him crying!"  
  
Dazed, the usually good-natured woman blinked in confusion as she listened to the infant's distress. "He's been like this for hours, Bulma. I-I don't know what to do!"  
  
"I'm coming home, mom. Everything's going to be alright..."  
  
"Vegeta?"  
  
"He-he hasn't woken up yet."  
  
Mrs. Briefs resumed her weeping and scrubbed her eyes with her manicured hands. When she raised her face again, she looked like a bewildered raccoon. "Oh, that poor, poor man! Hasn't he suffered enough already?"  
  
"I'll be home soon," Bulma managed to get out between the woman's hysterical sobs and shut off the phone. She got to her feet and paused long enough to run her fingers along the short spikes of the Saiyan's hair. "I have to leave. I'm sorry," she whispered and kissed Vegeta's cheek. "I'll be back as soon as I can."  
  
"I'll take you," Yamcha offered. "You shouldn't pilot a hoverjet in your condition."  
  
Distracted by her feelings for the Saiyan and her duty to her child, Bulma said vacantly, "Someone has to watch him-"  
  
"Piccolo and Tien are here. They can take turns. He won't be left alone."  
  
The heiress didn't budge. It worried her that if Vegeta woke up, his first sight would be one of the immense fighters looming over him. He would probably be disorientated and didn't need anymore excitation then what he had already endured. "He might panic if he sees either of them standing over his bed. He and Tien have a mutual loathing and Piccolo well, he's intimidating at the best of times," she reasoned. "Gohan is still at Capsule Corporation, so that doesn't leave anyone else-"  
  
"How about me?" Krillin piped up, poking his head through the door.  
  
Yamcha's face brightened. He had been about to reluctantly volunteer to baby-sit the Saiyan, for Bulma's piece of mind and now saw a way out of that responsibility. "You heard what happened?"  
  
"Yeah, I ran into Gohan on my way over here," the former-monk responded. He walked over to Bulma and took one of her hands, "I'm sorry that this happened. I stopped off at Korin's Place hoping that he had a new crop of Senzu beans ready. No luck. There were two that were nearing maturity but Yajirobi ate them because he had really bad gas."  
  
"It's alright, Krillin," she said absently, doubting that it would have made any difference anyway. If Frieza had truly been the source of the debilitating poison, she figured that the tyrant would have made the affliction immune to terrestrial healing methods. "I have to get home. Can you watch Vegeta while I'm gone? It won't be for very long."  
  
"Sure, no prob," the small fighter said with an easy grin. He sat himself down in the chair beside the bed and laced his fingers behind his bald head. "Should I just talk about stuff or sing for him?"  
  
At first, the question didn't dawn on Bulma. She was too distracted and had to puzzle it out for a moment while Yamcha actually groaned. Krillin's off- pitch singing could make dogs run for cover. The thought of Vegeta waking up to that racket brought a well-deserved smile to her pale features. "I just want him to recover- Not be deaf! Just go ahead and talk."  
  
"Like you need any help with that," Yamcha quipped as the pair headed for the door and let themselves out.  
  
With a wounded expression on his face, Krillin sniffed and looked away. "Nobody appreciates my talents," he said aloofly.  
  
  
  
The Headquarters building was utter pandemonium by the time Yamcha touched down on the third floor balcony with Bulma in his arms. Through the partially closed patio doors, they could hear Chi Chi still raving on about Gohan's poor conduct and Trunks' inconsolable screaming. When they stepped into the living room, Mrs. Briefs was sprawled out on the sofa in a grey faint and Chi Chi had cornered her son and was brandishing an erect finger in his face like a dagger. In the center of the room, Trunks was in his playpen while Dr. Briefs was trying to console him by waving a stuffed toy in his face. The old man's hair was completely disheveled and when he spotted Bulma, he actually appeared close to tears. "Thank God you're here, daughter-"  
  
"Bulma's here?" Mrs. Briefs threw off the magazine that covered her face and struggled to sit up. On the far side of the room, Gohan was visibly grateful for the timely diversion as his mother paused to catch her breath.  
  
Ignoring all of them, Bulma swept her son up in her arms and pulled him close. Grabbing fistfuls of blue hair in his tiny fists, Trunks' wails became fretful sobs as he shuddered against his mother. "Ow! Veh- Vehta...Ow!" He whimpered forlornly. "OwOwVetaOwOwOwwww-!"  
  
"I know, hon, I know. It's going to be okay now. I'm here," Bulma soothed as best she could.  
  
"That's all he's said for hours!" Her father said. "The same thing: 'Vegeta- Ow', over and over."  
  
It was just as she feared. The babe had sensed Vegeta's pain and had channeled it through his tiny frame. It must have been terrifying. "Mommy's here, Trunks. Please don't cry."  
  
Everyone was standing around the stricken pair and it took long moments for the infant to recover from the trauma and succumb to his exhaustion. His sobbing passed into a fit of hiccups and he finally fell into a troubled doze, his tiny frame shivering against her. Bulma stroked the boy's head, much like she had with Vegeta earlier and kissed his heated brow. "I'm going to put him to bed. I'll be back down as soon as he's settled," she said wearily and began the slow ascent of the staircase.  
  
"Vegeta still hasn't reached consciousness," Yamcha told them in a low voice. "Krillin is watching him-"  
  
"The attack on the airport is all over the news," Chi Chi cut in. "What happened?"  
  
Once away from the Lookout, Bulma had been more receptive in fielding Yamcha's endless stream of questions. To help pass the time, she had told him everything that had happened. "Bulma was getting letters from a blackmailer who was threatening to expose her relationship with Vegeta to the public. It was the doctor from the Hammorski Plaza. He had video tapes of them together."  
  
"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Dr. Briefs thundered.  
  
"Bulma wanted to handle it on her own. To be honest, we really didn't take it all that seriously, at first-"  
  
"Wait a minute," Chi Chi snapped. "You knew about this?"  
  
Swallowing, Yamcha realized that he should have omitted that little tidbit. "Uhm... yeah, but only the first letter. I didn't know he had contacted her again. Bulma didn't tell anyone that she was going to meet him face to face at the airport this morning."  
  
"If she didn't say anything, how did Vegeta know?" Mrs. Briefs asked in a hushed, excited voice.  
  
"I don't know," Yamcha admitted and couldn't understand why Gohan was wincing or why Chi Chi was glaring at him.  
  
"That was my fault," the boy spoke up when the tense silence stretched on. "I stole some papers from Bulma's secretary that had Vegeta's new address in them. The letters from the blackmailer must have been in the envelope, too."  
  
"Running away, playing hooky and stealing," Chi Chi hissed. "You are in sooo much trouble, young man!"  
  
Passing the youth a sympathetic glance, Yamcha continued, "The blackmailer had a gun drawn on Bulma when Vegeta intercepted them. He killed the guy and then died in her arms."  
  
That roused Mrs. Briefs into a fresh barrage of tears. "Like a knight in shining armor rushing to a damsel's aid. That's just like Vegeta-"  
  
"How did he die? Was he shot?" Dr. Briefs asked soberly.  
  
Not that time, Yamcha wanted to say but it would only create more questions that he had no answers for. "From what I understand, he had some sort of a brain hemorrhage. He died from a stroke."  
  
Four faces stared back at him in stunned silence, their faces slack with disbelief. Yamcha knew what they must have been thinking. Vegeta, the prince of a warring race of aliens who had the power to rip apart the very fabric of space, struck down by a mortal ailment. "Apparently, a poison was in his system that's been feeding on his brain. Dende said that it's been going on for months."  
  
Absently rubbing his moustache, Dr. Briefs mused, "Bulma was concerned by his prolonged disappearance. Could he have been captured by someone?"  
  
Chi Chi huffed, "I find that hard to-"  
  
"There were a lot of bullet wounds on his back," Gohan interrupted.  
  
"Automatic gun fire? That's a soldiers weapon," Bulma's father offered. "Didn't he assume the identity of a soldier?"  
  
"Yeah, Corporal Garth Tucker," the youth said.  
  
"It seems all too coincidental, doesn't it?" Yamcha mused. While everybody started to debate the issue, Mrs. Briefs slipped away to go check on her daughter. The direction of the conversation was really over her head and nobody noticed it when she went upstairs.  
  
Stepping down the corridor towards the nursery, she saw that the door was partially open and the light was on. Peering inside, her expression of tension finally gave way to one of relief.  
  
Sitting in the rocking chair beside the crib, Bulma was fast asleep with Trunks in her arms. The boy was dozing peacefully in the protective embrace of his mother and there was a hint of a contented smile on his chubby features. Loosely clasped in one hand, Bulma was holding onto her small vidphone. Without hesitation, Mrs. Briefs gently pulled the communicator out of her weak grip and slid it into her own pocket.  
  
"My babies need their sleep," she whispered, smiling down at them with her heart surging with enormous love. After a few moments, she left the room and closed the door on the sleeping pair.  
  
  
  
"-Buh-Buh-Buh Bad to the Bone, Buh-Buh-Buh Bad to the Bone, Ohhhhhh, yeah, baby! I'm Bad to the Bone!"  
  
Krillin was air-guitaring at the foot of Vegeta's bed and steadily working through his repertoire of barely remembered Rock n' Roll songs. It was late at night, or early in the morning depending on one's perspective, and the little fighter was bored.  
  
In the beginning, he had sat beside Vegeta's bed and talked for hours about inconsequential matters- His life as a monk, his friendship with Gokou and their past adventures. Finally, he decided to broach the subject that involved the both of them personally.  
  
"You were out of control when you first showed up. I mean, sure, at first you just stepped back and let Nappa have his fun beating the crap out of us while you laughed your ass off. But when Gokou showed up, that's when you showed your true colors." Krillin paused and examined the Saiyan's face for any hint of expression. "Nothing stopped you during that fight; not the Kamehameha or the Spirit Bomb. Even Gohan falling on you and breaking every bone in your body didn't kill you. You were unstoppable and if it hadn't been for Gokou, I would have slit your throat for sure." Taking a deep breath, the small man realized that he had been keeping that dark knowledge pent up for years. "I was raised to respect all life and not make harsh judgements on the actions of others. But I hated you, Vegeta. You caused so much pain and suffering to my friends that I wanted to see you dead." He looked sadly down at his hands, which were shaking. "It wouldn't have made me any better than you. I've never killed anything in my life. But I caught an insight into how you must think and it changed me forever. For better or worse, I'm a different man because of it."  
  
Before he could betray his feelings further, the man jumped off of the chair and from that point began singing. He had barely started when Piccolo poked his head into the room and asked him just what the hell he thought he was trying to accomplish. The small monk responded that if his singing didn't wake up Vegeta, nothing could. Completely flustered by the logic, the Namek left without another word.  
  
That had been three hours ago and Krillin was showing no signs of slowing down.  
  
"For my next number, the Great Krillin is going to be singing a selection of Celine Dion's popular songs, starting with the Titanic soundtrack-" Krillin hesitated when he thought that he detected movement out of the corner of his eye. "...Vegeta?"  
  
Under the covers, the Saiyan's left foot twitched and he released a low sound from his throat that resembled a moan. Rushing to his side, Krillin watched as Vegeta's brows twitched and that indignant line between his eyes returned with a vengeance.  
  
"Vegeta! Can you hear me?" Krillin persisted. He wanted to get Piccolo or Dende in here to witness this but didn't want to leave the room for one second. He reached out to touch the Saiyan's forehead and at the mere contact, Vegeta's eyes flew open and he sat up with a gasp.  
  
"You're awake! Yippie!" Krillin began applauding and jumping up and down in his excitement. "Oh man, this is great! Bulma's gonna freak when she hears about this!"  
  
Ignoring the raving midget, Vegeta looked down at himself in shock, checking his arms and chest for wounds. The rich furnishings around him were unfamiliar and he muttered under his breath, "Why aren't I in my pod?" His eyes caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the far side of the room and his eyes widened almost comically. "Son of a bitch!" He snarled, running his fingers through the short spikes.  
  
Still dancing, Krillin turned to look at him, his round face flushed and beaming with happiness. "What was that, Vegeta? I didn't catch what you said."  
  
Baring his teeth in hatred, the Saiyan snarled out; "You should have killed me with that sword when you had the chance, baldy."  
  
The threat barely registered on the small fighter before the room exploded.  
  
  
  
I knew something like this might happen, Piccolo was thinking as he rushed around the corner of the palace. Tien and Dende were following close behind with Mr. Popo at the end, huffing and puffing and gamely trying to keep up. The entire Lookout had shuddered with the force of the explosion and the southern corner of the once-immaculate palace was a smoldering ruin.  
  
"Krillin!" Tien was shouting. "Damn it! That's what you get for letting him sing, Piccolo!"  
  
Flashing him a reproachful glare, the Namek made no comment. He had feared that Vegeta's first seconds of consciousness might be violent ones and it appeared as if poor Krillin had been on the receiving end of it. Terrible singing voice aside, he didn't deserve to be incinerated for the lapse.  
  
The alien's fears were lessened when he caught sight of the little monk struggling to rise from where the blast had thrown him out of the palace. Singed clothing and a few scratches aside, he appeared remarkably unscathed. Looking around in bewilderment, the man yelled at the new arrivals in frustration; "Could somebody tell me what the heck is going on?!"  
  
Opening his mouth to speak, Piccolo turned sharply to confront the other person stepping out of the smoke.  
  
"Vegeta!" Tien started to step forward but Piccolo's arcane senses began screaming cautions and he motioned the human back. "Just a second, Tien. Something's not right..."  
  
Bare chested, the Saiyan walked barefoot through the rubble of the palace and haughtily examined the sparse surrounding features. Blinking the smoke out of his stinging eyes, he looked up at the night sky and frowned at the sight of unfamiliar constellations. As he sniffed the air, he reflexively reached for the left-hand side of his face, dropping his arm with a growl when he came away empty handed.  
  
He was searching for a scouter, Piccolo realized, knowing full well that the Saiyan hadn't worn one for years. "Vegeta!"  
  
Swinging his head around, the Saiyan noticed them for the first time and his eyes narrowed in immediate recognition. "The Namek and Three-eyes... I thought Nappa finished off you losers for good."  
  
"What the hell are you talking about-" This time Piccolo brought an elbow back into Tien's solar plexus and silenced him for the moment. "Vegeta, what's the last thing you remember?" The Namek called out in a level voice.  
  
Vegeta stared at Krillin and adopted a livid sneer on his tense features. "I remember this little shit was going to cut my throat until Kakarrot stopped him."  
  
"Uh oh," Tien wheezed as he massaged his aching breastbone. The reason for the Namek's concern was becoming brutally clear. "Piccolo, does that mean what I think it does?"  
  
Not taking his eyes off of the Saiyan, the huge alien offered one curt nod. "The damage to his mind wasn't to his power but to his memory. Tien, he believes that this is still his first visit to earth." Piccolo had to submerge a tremor of apprehension that swept up his spine. It was his absolute worst fear come true.  
  
With the speed of a rattlesnake, Vegeta caught a hold of Krillin's collar and hefted him up until they were eyelevel. "I told you I'd be back to finish what I started, didn't I?"  
  
"Veh-Vegeta-" Krillin stammered.  
  
"This time, you're all going to die," Vegeta promised him and threw his head back and started laughing.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Thirteen: Vegeta decides to pick up where he last left off! 


	13. Badman Reborn

Two Sides To A Story Chapter Thirteen  
  
Anger. Rage. Animosity.  
  
Krillin saw all of these emotions churn in the black depths of Vegeta's eyes, which were only three inches from his own. Adding to the mix was a growing madness that the small monk had not seen for over four years. And he hadn't missed it, either. It meant that the crazed persona of the Saiyan, who had reveled in the pain and devastation caused during his initial visit on Earth, had returned with a vengeance.  
  
"Are you prepared to finally die?" Vegeta asked him, his tone was almost conversational. A smile of pure malevolent intent was on his face and Krillin had to submerge a tremor of fear. "I promise that it won't be slow- "  
  
"Vegeta, listen to me- You were injured-"  
  
"No shit!"  
  
"I mean that battle was over four years ago!" Krillin was almost babbling in his terror. "Things have happened since then, we all have a truce. You're on the side of the good guys now, you actually have a fami-"  
  
"You talk too much," Vegeta snarled and rammed his forehead into the annoying midget's face, effectively silencing him. Slumping in the Saiyan's grip, Krillin was helpless to prevent being crudely dropkicked over the edge of the Look-Out.  
  
Without any hesitation, Tien took to the air to catch his friend. He was buffeted aside by a ki blast that created a blistering gash across his right shoulder. Gripping the wound and cursing, he barely avoided several other volleys from the attacking Saiyan. One more nailed him squarely in the back just as he dropped below the Look-Out's horizon.  
  
Clenching his teeth together in a fearsome grimace, Piccolo glared at this new threat, assuming a ready stance of defense. Vegeta appeared to be deliberately ignoring him as he looked down at his hands, frowning while he did so. The Namek was pretty sure why. "The discharges felt different, didn't they?"  
  
Glancing sidelong at him, Vegeta only responded, "A Saiyan grows stronger after an injury. I should have expected an increase in my power."  
  
"Surely you can feel the difference, Vegeta. Krillin was telling the truth; it's been almost five years since you last invaded Earth."  
  
The Saiyan's eyes transformed into twin slits. "Lies," he spat. "I would have turned this world into a ball of ashes."  
  
Forcing himself to not appear so threatening, Piccolo calmly shook his head. "It's a very long story. Will you let me tell it to you?"  
  
"By all means, Namek," Vegeta said cordially and Piccolo actually thought that he had a chance until the smaller alien started to grin.  
  
Below the Look-Out, Tien barely caught Krillin before they both impacted into the ground. Sprawled in untidy heaps in the grass, the pair attempted to shrug off their injuries and focus on the task at hand. For a moment, there were no words between them, only intelligible groans. Finally, as he rubbed a huge goose egg where his nose would have been, Krillin turned to his huge friend and muttered, "We're doomed."  
  
Tien shot him a dark glance as he painfully shrugged out of his charred shirt, wincing at the pull on his burns. "You've faced Vegeta before. Not to mention Frieza and Cell. You're a lot stronger now, Krillin."  
  
"Yeah, but so is Vegeta!"  
  
Looking at the gold cable that led up to the miniscule Look-Out far above them, Tien made no comment. He was as aware of the Saiyan's abilities and their implications, just as Piccolo was; A Super Saiyan with decades of combat experience and a propensity for cruelty and violence that they couldn't even fathom. Gokou was dead and that left only his son as any kind of a defense against the battle that was to come. Hasn't the boy suffered enough? "Krillin..."  
  
"I know," the small fighter said, getting slowly to his feet. "I'll go fetch Gohan. Hopefully, Vegeta will come to his senses by then-"  
  
There was an immense flash of pure white light and the pair recoiled from its intensity, protectively shielding their vulnerable eyes. Tien swore that he could actually see the bones of his splayed fingers behind his closed eyelids from the severe glare. Several seconds later, there was a deafening roar of an explosion that made the ground shake and echoed off into the distance like thunder. When they chanced a glance skywards, a portion of Dende's Look-Out was blown out and reduced to a blazing ruin.  
  
"I don't think there's much chance of that, Krillin," the fighter said in a shaky voice. "You better hurry."  
  
Not even wasting a second for a reassuring nod, the little monk sped off westwards while Tien shot straight up. He passed an indignant Yajirobi who was leaning over the railing of Korin's Tower and brandishing one chubby fist as he bawled, "Hey, you guys! Knock it off! All that brawling made me spill my soup!"  
  
Fortunately, Tien was a blur and the obese samurai never saw the erect middle finger intended for him. Any moment of levity was lost the instant the fighter touched down on the charred marble of the once-immaculate retreat. Vegeta's blast had created a widening furrow that had obliterated the southern end of the palace and erased the main platform to a depth of several hundred meters. The entire Look-Out now had a noticeable lean and Tien had to watch his step as he ran over to where Dende and Mr. Popo were kneeling beside Piccolo. Half of the Namek's cape was burnt off and he was gripping his right side where his arm and shoulder had been ripped off in the blast.  
  
The deadly seriousness of the situation was beginning to hit home for Tien as he looked around. It was really happening. This time they hadn't received any warning from someone from the future to make the necessary preparations for this battle. Vegeta had reverted to the alien that he loathed more than any other enemy they had ever faced and they were on their own. "Piccolo, what happened?"  
  
Pushing Dende away with a growl, the huge Namek shuddered with pain as he growled out, "I thought I was reasoning with him. He waited until my guard was down and attacked."  
  
"Please, let me heal you," Dende was saying.  
  
"You're resources are still limited from healing Vegeta," Piccolo told him. He examined Tien for a moment and added, "He needs your help more than I do."  
  
Before any of them could object, Piccolo released a terrifying roar and another arm burst from his right side in a fine spray of emerald fluids. Panting from the effort of rejuvenation, he flexed the new limb experimentally and then began scanning the night sky. "Vegeta can't be left alone. We're going to have to find out where he's gone."  
  
"I...can sense him," Tien realized as Dende began healing his wounds. "Why hasn't he shielded himself from us?"  
  
A rare look of surprise replaced the anger on the Namek's face. For the first time since the Saiyan had awakened, he felt a small glimmer of hope. "Because he hasn't yet learned that he can," he said in a near-whisper.  
  
  
  
Sorting through the photographs on his desk, Darren Foster wished that the life of a Private Investigator was like in the movies or even on television; car chases, hot babes and never-ending action. The reality was countless hours spent sitting in a car waiting for someone to leave his or her hotel room for an incriminating snapshot. That's what he was doing now, picking the most incriminating photos of a cheating husband to present to the man's wife tomorrow morning. It wasn't a glamorous life but at least it paid the bills. His work providing background checks on Capsule Corporation employees was by commission and only made up a small part of his business. But it was a profession that he excelled at.  
  
The front door to his office was securely locked and he certainly wasn't expecting any visitors at midnight. He jumped about a foot off of his chair when there was a hard rap of knuckles on the window behind him. His office was on the twenty-fifth floor of an office building.  
  
Whirling in surprise, he saw a scar-faced man in loose casuals hovering outside and he immediately slid open the window. "I know you. You're Yamcha, one of Bulma Briefs acquaintances."  
  
"Uh... have we met?" Yamcha asked awkwardly as he stepped inside.  
  
"Not personally," Darren said, slipping easily back into his chair. "I've done some checks on you, for Ms. Briefs sake. You're quite the ladies man."  
  
His face reddening from something other than embarrassment, Yamcha was beginning to understand how Bulma always seemed to know about his indiscretions. He had always figured that she had remarkable women's intuition about matters like that. Little did he know that she'd had someone tailing his unfaithful ass the entire time. Clearing his throat, he forced his indignation aside and managed to get out, "I need a copy of some information that you got for Bulma. It involves Garth Tucker."  
  
"Does she know you're asking?"  
  
"Uh... no."  
  
"Then I can't release that without her-"  
  
"Listen to me!" Yamcha slammed down both of his hands on the desk and leaned over the man. "If you've done as thorough a check on me as I think you have, you know that I'm her close friend and I'd never do anything to hurt her. I've defended this world through countless threats, doesn't that count for anything in your book?"  
  
The pair locked eyes for a moment until Darren sighed. "What do you want to know?"  
  
"That Tucker guy was a soldier. I want to find out where he was stationed, that's all."  
  
With a reluctant nod, the investigator turned to his computer and began calling up files for review. Reading the data silently, he ignored Yamcha's restless fidgeting until he finally spoke up; "I can't tell you that information-"  
  
Rolling his eyes, Yamcha snapped, "I thought we just talked about this-"  
  
"-Because his file is encrypted in the Military database under a top secret jurisdiction," Darren continued. "Wherever he was, all records are now restricted to all but the highest ranking officers. Whatever he did, it's nobody's business."  
  
"Damn it," Yamcha muttered under his breath. It was just his perpetual bad luck that his one hunch would be an empty one. "Is there any other way to find out what happened to him?"  
  
Leaning back in his chair, the other man stroked his chin as he became lost in thought. "If I remember correctly, he was in receipt of a disability pension. If it was something that happened recently, there might be another place I can look..."  
  
Typing in a few lines of code, the expression on Darren's face never changed as he zipped past several intimating firewalls. His voice had an odd smug lilt to it when he finally said; "I've gotten into the medical database through a backdoor. Apparently, in the first week of August, Tucker was severely injured and transported to a Veteran's Hospital in Jacques City."  
  
"How badly injured was he?"  
  
"Nothing specific is listed. Looks like a coma for indeterminate reasons. It lasted for twenty-two days and after that it was another nine for recovery before he was released AMA."  
  
Dread began settling into the pit of Yamcha's stomach the more he listened. He suddenly knew that they were no longer talking about a luckless human of the name of Tucker. They were discussing Vegeta. "AMA?"  
  
"Against medical advice. The doctor assigned to his care didn't want him to leave."  
  
Turning to look out the window, the young fighter chewed briefly on the inside of his cheek as he absorbed the news. "Who was the doctor?" he asked curiously.  
  
  
  
This pathetic excuse for a planet was going to become one of the most spectacular pyrotechnic displays in the galaxy. Its destruction would leave a scar in space that would be visible for a million years, an eternal testimony of the unrivaled power that the Prince of all Saiyans could wield. Vegeta would revel in the white-hot fires of a dying world and bask in the screams of the executed masses of innocents. It was a pallet of death and destruction to which he was a master artist that had no equal and it was his greatest talent, his darkest gift. Yes, earth was a doomed world whose inhabitants were oblivious of their imminent demise. He was going to make his presence known soon enough...  
  
But first, he had to go shopping.  
  
His armor had been a write-off at the end of the battle with Kakarrot and his damnable son. Vegeta was drawing a troubling blank at what had happened after he had passed out inside of the pod. All he could think of was that they had prevented his escape and somehow managed to keep him imprisoned until his horrific wounds had healed. He should have died without a regeneration chamber to sustain him. Further perplexing was why the idiot humans would have wasted the resources to save their future executioner. Even worse, what the hell had they dressed him in?!  
  
He had always taken particular care of his appearance. Certainly, he made it a point to never dress in the same uniforms his lowbrow subordinates, Nappa and Radditz, ever wore. He was a prince, after all, who possessed a particular sense of style and had an eye for quality. Despite his small frame, he was never one to go unnoticed either in casuals or battle uniforms, often choosing color schemes that flattered his dark coloring or wordlessly communicated his threatening intent. At the moment, all he was wearing were a pair of ripped, blood-splattered trousers and it wasn't proper attire for the future conqueror of an entire world.  
  
Looking for something that resembled some manner of Market Square, he saw a vast collection of vehicles that were parked in front of an immense structure. He landed in front of the glass doors and jumped back when the doors pulled open on their tracks. Almost immediately, there was a corpulent human advancing on him. "Hey fella, it's closing time. You can't come in here. Hey!"  
  
Deliberately ignoring him, Vegeta began to walk inside the Mall when the guard made the mistake of grabbing his shoulder. Pivoting on his heel, the Saiyan wrenched the offending arm away and shattered it at the elbow with the heel of his hand. The move was so fast that the departing shoppers never even noticed that anything had happened until the man started screaming. By then, Vegeta had disappeared down the nearest clothing aisle.  
  
The fashions on this world were blinding in their color scheme and pathetic in their design, Vegeta concluded with growing irritation. He saw nothing that even remotely resembled armor or protective body uniforms, just loose- fitting abominations that could never endure even a mild battle without ripping. Nothing came close to fitting him either, and that only angered him more. Looking around, he had to levitate above a rack of socks and was about to plow through the ceiling to go look elsewhere when his sharp eyes fell on a design on the far wall. He flew over to it, barely registering the mobilization of the rest of the mall's security guards (all three of them), and stared at the design with a puzzled frown on his face. It was quite simple; three circles, one inside of another and written on the bottom were two words: Capsule Corp. For some reason, the sight of it bothered him and a knot of pain settled briefly over his left eye. He rubbed his temple with a curse and dismissed the ache as a leftover of whatever crude healing process the humans had forced on him. The sign was over a selection of clothing that displayed the same logo and this time the various designs actually caught his critical eye. Yes, these might actually be worthy.  
  
He removed the stained pants he was wearing and began browsing through the racks in the nude when he registered movement out of the corner of his eye. The guards had surrounded him holding cans of pepper spray in shaking hands. "Don't make any sudden moves. Stay right where you are!"  
  
"Fuck off. I'm shopping," Vegeta said, throwing a pair of pants over his shoulder and continuing his search.  
  
The guards exchanged a glance, unanimously decided that they were dealing with a wacko, and depressed the triggers of their spray cans. It was the last thing that they ever did. Vegeta materialized behind the nearest guard, reached up and wrenched the man's head around so violently that the vertebrae in his neck exploded through the skin. The man was dead before he hit the ground and by then, so was guard number two. Vaulting over the first body, the Saiyan released a ki blast the cut the luckless human in half, propelling the guard's severed torso into a batch of stunned spectators. Not stopping with his momentum, Vegeta succeeded in killing the third with a direct kick to the Adam's apple, causing the man to strangle to death on his own vomit. All in all, the supposed combat lasted less than ten seconds and, with his usual smirk, the Saiyan continued his shopping unbothered.  
  
Not long after, Vegeta stood in front of a full-length mirror and considered his reflection. The Capsule Corp. line of clothing seemed tailored for his specific size and appeared that it was designed to last. It wasn't what he was used to wearing but he had to admit that the look wasn't unappealing. He had chosen loose grey pants with a dark blue leather jacket over a black tank top. Completing the image were a pair of comfortable yellow boots. It wasn't his usual color scheme but for some reason it seemed familiar. That ache settled over his temple again whenever he started to dwell on the issue and he shut it away for later. The only thing that really bothered him now was his hair. Never in his life had it been any other fashion than the flame style that categorized his royal breeding. It was just one more reason that he was going to make this world suffer before it burned.  
  
Turning to leave, he stared at the glass again and reached out to touch the smooth surface. A shiver ran up his spine and for some reason, he half- expected his image to change shape into something else. That was ridiculous. Forcing himself to look away, he deliberately turned his back and returned to where he had entered the building.  
  
By now, the store had been evacuated and there were several patrol cars arranged around the front of the Mall. The instant he came into view, there was a flurry of activity and several spotlights singled him out. An authoritative voice called out on a bullhorn; "Stop where you are! Turn around and lay facedown on the ground with your hands behind your head. Do it right now!"  
  
"Idiot humans," Vegeta was almost chuckling as he raised his left hand. His initial intent had been to blow the vehicles up and save the policemen for some hands-on practice sparring but several started firing their pistols. At the sound of gunfire, Vegeta flinched and over-reacted, releasing a ki blast that instantly transformed the darkened surroundings into daylight. The parking lot turned into a war zone before he even knew what had happened. The police hover cars had been reduced to twisted wrecks of charred metal and the humans had been vaporized. Not for the first time, the Saiyan looked down at his hand as if examining a treacherous snake. How could he have gotten so powerful in so short a time?  
  
Perhaps the babbling midget hadn't been lying after all... "Krillin was telling the truth; it's been almost five years since you last invaded Earth," the Namek had said. Was it possible? Had he been asleep for all of that time?  
  
Or, worse still, had he been awake and forgotten it all?  
  
"Not possible," he grumbled as he crossed his arms. "The Prince of all Saiyans does not succumb to something as trite as amnesia."  
  
"I'm not so sure about that," commented a female voice from behind him.  
  
Turning only marginally, Vegeta regarded the newcomer with weary disdain. Another human, he concluded with the mental equivalence of a sigh although this one was enough to actually raise his eyebrow as his examination lingered.  
  
Standing several meters from him, the woman had shoulder length blond hair and was wearing an attractive ensemble of a stripped sleeved sweater beneath a tasteful black vest and a denim mini skirt over black leggings. Android 18 was looking at the damage strewn around her and turned back to Vegeta, her slanted blue eyes wide with curiosity. She had witnessed him make some rather remarkable changes before but this one had to be at the top of the list. Barely recognizing him, she had thought for an instant that the instigator had been her brother until she saw him up close. "What happened to you, Vegeta?"  
  
"We've met?" The Saiyan's perpetual smirk widened into a leering grin. "Well, lucky me..."  
  
Not sure what to make of his demeanor, she stood her ground as he closed the distance until they were only a foot apart. His eyes crawled over her, deliberately lingering at her prominent breasts before he dropped his gaze to her crotch. Pursing his lips, he wetted them with a suggestive flick of his tongue. "Tell me, have I tasted you yet?"  
  
"Wh-what do you mean-"  
  
He snatched a fistful of her hair and pulled her face in closer. "All of this action has made me hornier than hell. I think I'm in the mood for a little dog-fucking. Just turn around and bend over and we can have some fun. What do you say?"  
  
An indignant blush was rising to her usually pale cheeks. In as calm a voice as she could manage, she said, "There's only one way that I like dogs."  
  
"That a fact? In what way?" Vegeta teased.  
  
"Neutered," she said and brought her knee up between his legs as hard as she possibly could.  
  
  
  
Following the elusive tendrils of Vegeta's faint ki, Piccolo and Tien said little between them as they concentrated on their mission. All during the flight, the Namek repeatedly tried to consult the portion of his mind where Kami resided but the ancient alien wasn't talking. Perhaps he was thinking like Tien at this point; that he should have left damn well enough alone and let the Saiyan stay dead. To hell with vague prophesies of the future.  
  
The pair detected the alarming spikes of Vegeta's ki even before they could hear the wails of sirens in the city they were approaching. They slowed down and allowed their senses to lead them into the center of the district where smoke was billowing out of a crater in front of a shopping mall.  
  
"Do you think Vegeta is still nearby?" Tien ventured.  
  
"!!YOU NAILED ME IN THE FUCKING 'NADS, YOU BLOND BITCH!! I'LL KILL YOU!!"  
  
"Yes," Piccolo responded, straight-faced.  
  
The pair swiftly descended and regarded the grim sight of devastation that lay sprawled around them. There was no need to even make the attempt to search for survivors; this was Vegeta they were talking about, after all. Piccolo noticed Android 18 first and felt a tremor of unease worm its way into his gut. "What are you doing here?" He barked, desperately hoping that the Saiyan hadn't gained an ally.  
  
Tucking her hair behind one ear, the female spared a cool glance in his direction. "I was keeping an eye on Krillin until Vegeta attacked the Look-Out. What's going on here?"  
  
"Trunks?" Tien called out, noticing the familiar clothes on the individual who was doubled-over several meters away.  
  
"That's not Trunks," Piccolo said quickly, recognizing the raven brows of the man who looked over at them. For some reason, the Saiyan had adopted the same clothing that his son from the future had worn during much of his stay. It was a hopeful sign that Vegeta was remembering snatches of his lost memories. How much more was struggling to free itself from the damage? The troubled Namek kept a keen eye on him but didn't interfere.  
  
"Ohh, you- Miserable. Little. Cooze!" Vegeta coughed as he slowly managed to straighten up. His groin was a blinding ache of throbbing agony from the blonde's deliberate strike. It reminded him of another design flaw that this world's pathetic line of clothing failed to offer; groin shields like his previous armor. He'd been caught off-guard with a shot to the pills before, but there was something behind the strength of the woman's blow that suggested that there was more to her than just a fantastic body. A lot more. "I might have let you live before. Now all bets are off!"  
  
"What's gotten into you?" 18 yelled at him. The information in her mental database informed her that a direct blow to the testicles should have proven completely incapacitating. Aside from stagger Vegeta for more then a few seconds, all it had succeeded in doing was royally piss him off. It wasn't a first time that Dr. Gero had provided her with incorrect information about the Saiyan. As usual, the timing in this instance was terrible.  
  
"He's lost his memories of the last four years," Piccolo called out to her. "Be very careful, 18! This isn't a personality of Vegeta's that you've ever encountered before. He'll try to kill you!"  
  
"Like you haven't tried that before," 18 sniffed.  
  
Vegeta frowned at her. "We've fought?"  
  
"Little man, I kicked your ass!"  
  
The Saiyan adopted that maniacal grin as he crouched down into an attack posture. "By the time we're done here, I'll be screwing yours," he assured her. There was no time for rebuttal from anyone as he launched himself into the air.  
  
Moving to the side to avoid the tackle, 18 was unprepared for the Saiyan's outraged advance. Vegeta grabbed firm hold of her legs and the pair went crashing through the side of the mall, shattering cinderblocks with the force of their collision. His initial suspicions that this female was no mere human were confirmed when it was plain that the impact didn't even rattle her. He lashed out with a blinding kick that 18 blocked and ducked as her arm swept around and embedded itself into the wall up to her elbow. Pushing himself from the floor, he nailed her midriff with both feet and she stumbled backwards into a greeting card rack, scattering the contents.  
  
"Better pick out a bereavement card now," Vegeta was chuckling. "You're going to need it!"  
  
Watching his posture for valuable clues, 18 rolled out of the way of a destructo disk that went slicing over her head and went at him with both fists glowing. She aimed a double ki blast point blank at his face and when the smoke cleared, her smug expression dissolved into one of surprise. Vegeta was unfazed by the attack and still wearing that infuriating smirk as he regarded her.  
  
"Nice trick. Here's one of mine," he said and spread his arms and released a blast from either hand. 18 didn't understand the nature of the attack until both discharges curved around and slammed into her back, pushing her into his waiting arms. "What do you think of that one?" He asked, grazing his lips over hers while his hands restlessly groped her body.  
  
"Bastard!" She hissed and tried to kick him again. This time he was prepared for it and gave her a backhand that sent her sliding down the aisle.  
  
"I see that I'm going to have to wear you down a bit," he remarked as he walked confidently towards her. "Personally, I wouldn't have it any other way."  
  
18's skin crawled at the cold snicker that followed the statement. On two different occasions she had witnessed the Saiyan in battle; once in opposition with her and the other against Cell. She was used to the never- ending arrogance that categorized his personality but this was a new side of him that she had never seen. He was actually having fun! During their first battle, he had been brimming with over-confidence and obviously inexperienced with his Super Saiyan form. She had made short work of him then. When he had encountered Cell, there had been a hint of that taunting side of him as he toyed with the incomplete android, beating him into humiliating submission. That dark humor was still there but it possessed an almost child-like glee with the destruction that he was causing. He seemed very young and very dangerous.  
  
Piccolo was observing Vegeta as he fought and was drawing the same conclusions. He and Tien hovered off to the side as Saiyan and Android threw themselves at one another and began a series of lightening fast strikes and kicks. Their eyes could barely keep track of the pace of the frenzied combat. No quarter was spared for the other as they exchanged blows that were capable of denting steel. 18 managed to land a kick into Vegeta's side that knocked him off balance and she took advantage of that lapse in his defense. She pummeled his face and chest with a dozen blows in the span of less than a second and fired another ki blast that threw him the length of the mall.  
  
Landing in the children's toy section, a display stand of Pokémon plush toys broke the Saiyan's fall. Sputtering curses under his breath, he barely got back to his feet before 18 flew into him again. She was pressing the advantage of surprise as she worked her way past weakening defenses, forcing him backwards. As outraged as she should have been for his crude advances, there was only one thought that entered her mind-  
  
"Why hasn't he transformed into a Super Saiyan?" Tien spoke up. He and Piccolo were biding their time, looking for an opportunity to move in. "He's losing! Why hasn't he made the change?"  
  
Piccolo's olive features betrayed more of that growing hope. "He doesn't know that he's managed the transformation! At this point in his memories, it's still all superstition and conjecture." He looked over at the human and Tien was surprised to see that the alien was actually smiling. "Vegeta's believes he's still in the same power range that he was four years ago. The rest of us have all surpassed that level. We may have a chance after all. If we work together, we can take him down ourselves!"  
  
It was all that Tien needed to hear. "Right!"  
  
He was losing! Vegeta couldn't believe it even as one small fist glanced off his forearm and connected with the side of his head while a dainty shoe impacted against his hip. The Prince of all Saiyans was getting his ass kicked by a potential piece of tail! With a roar of anger, he grabbed her leg as she was rounding on him for another kick, throwing her away as hard as he possibly could.  
  
18 smashed up against the overhead fluorescents and hovered there for the moment. Breathing heavy, Vegeta didn't understand the reason for her hesitation until green arms slid up under his armpits and hoisted him off the ground. "Now Tien!" That three-eyed freak dropped down in front of him, grinning from ear to ear.  
  
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying this part," Tien remarked and plowed him square in the face with one huge glowing fist.  
  
The Saiyan's world exploded into a kaleidoscope of whirling stars. Through burning eyes, he saw the huge human winding up for another blow and started twisting in Piccolo's grip. Holding onto him was like trying to wrestle with a wildcat and more than once, the Namek came close to losing his grip. He settled for a chokehold around Vegeta's neck, tightening as hard as he possibly dared while the smaller alien thrashed against him, gasping for air. "Calm down, Vegeta! If you'd just listen to reason, you'd see that all this fighting is pointless. Just hear us out for one minute!"  
  
Piccolo's words were reduced to incomprehensible nonsense as the blood boiled in Vegeta's ears. Clawing at the arm around his neck, he continued his struggles until his air supply was cut off and blackness began closing in on his vision. There was something very familiar with this situation; he had endured this type of abuse before. If he could only just figure out how he had managed to get out of it, he'd be free-  
  
His eyes snapped open and the turmoil around him was replaced by a barren landscape overshadowed by a pale green sky. There was still something around his neck, strangling him, but it wasn't an arm. It was a clammy, naked tail.  
  
"My dear little monkey prince," Frieza purred into his ear. "You should know better than to defy me."  
  
A thousand blows rained upon his back in the span of seconds. He could feel his spine shatter to pieces, his internal organs rupture. Oh yes, there had been a way to escape this chokehold. He even remembered how he had accomplished the feat...  
  
He had died.  
  
Vegeta slumped in Piccolo's grip at long last and the Namek was sure that he had finally blacked out. For a few seconds there, he had almost wormed himself free. Reluctant to release him, he felt for a pulse along the Saiyan's jawline and found one- rapid and strong. That wasn't the only thing; his flesh was growing hotter to the touch.  
  
"Uh, Piccolo." Tien was stepping back as Vegeta's body began smoldering with glowing tendrils of energy.  
  
Shouting out in pain, Piccolo had no choice but to release his grip when the Saiyan's power burned him. Vegeta pulled himself to his knees and wrapped his arms around his head. The fires of growing ki were shrouding his body and gaining in intensity by the second. "It can't be true- It can't! He killed me- !!FRIEZA KILLED ME!!"  
  
"Everybody clear out!" Piccolo called to the others.  
  
They didn't even have time to look for an exit when Vegeta threw his head back and screamed his rage and misery. An explosion of power radiated outwards that was like nothing any of them had ever encountered. It obliterated everything inanimate in its path like a solid wall of destruction and blew out every partition of the huge building in a soundless manifestation of god-like might. Even the ceiling was blasted upwards from the force of the display, with pieces raining down in neighborhoods several kilometers away.  
  
Before unconsciousness claimed him, Piccolo opened his swollen eyes a crack and saw Vegeta kneeling in the center of the crater he had created. His short hair was a bright blond and his eyes were actually glowing a brilliant green with unrivaled power. He was staring at his hands in amazement and laughing in delight.  
  
It's the beginning of the end, the Namek thought bleakly before he slumped face-first into the dirt.  
  
  
  
Trunks eyes snapped open and he looked up at the ceiling and started wailing. Roused out of a sound sleep, Bulma realized that she had fallen asleep in the rocking chair beside the crib and was still holding the baby in her arms. As she tried to comfort him, she stole a glance at her watch and could barely believe what she saw. She had been asleep for over three hours!  
  
Digging urgently into her pant's pocket for her vidphone, she wanted to call Krillin and find out if there was any news on Vegeta's condition. It was suspiciously missing and she submerged a frustrated exhale of breath, sensing her mother's interference. Her back rebelled when she got to her feet after having slept in such an uncomfortable position. She tried to put Trunks to bed but he wasn't having any of it, thrashing with renewed vigor and screaming at the top of his lungs.  
  
"Shush, honey! Shhhhhhh, you'll wake up the entire house," she tried to sooth him to no avail.  
  
"Daughter?"  
  
Standing in the doorway, her father was looking in on her. Bulma immediately noticed the expression of dread on his face and the fact that he was still in his work clothes although it was almost one o'clock in the morning. Behind him, stood her mother and flanking the harried blond was Chi Chi, all looking equally distraught.  
  
He died while I was sleeping, Bulma thought incoherently. Vegeta died and now they're coming to break the news... "D-daddy?" she whimpered, her blue eyes steadily widening in growing horror. "What's wrong? Is... it Vegeta?"  
  
At the sound of his name, her mother started weeping which didn't help the situation. When Dr. Briefs hesitated, Chi Chi stepped inside and told her, "Vegeta's woken up."  
  
"Oh, thank god! I thought-"  
  
"It's not good news, Bulma," the brunette continued ruefully. "He's lost his memories of the last four years. His powers are back and he's determined to destroy the earth. Gohan just left with Krillin to try and stop him." Her own lips were a pale, rigid line of worry for her son. She knew what this grim situation meant just as much as Bulma did. The boy was speeding headlong towards a battle to the death. Very likely his own. There was little doubt that Chi Chi would have tried to stop the boy and her present frustration was as plain as her hatred of Vegeta.  
  
There was no time for lamentations, not now. Adopting an expression carved out of stone, Bulma straightened her spine and asked, "Where's Yamcha?"  
  
"Last I heard, he was heading for Jacques City," her father told him. "He's checking a lead that might reveal what happened to Vegeta during his disappearance."  
  
"Of all the piss-poor timing," Bulma muttered under her breath. She needed the fighter's sense of ki to find out where the fighting was happening. Without it, she had no way of telling where Vegeta and the others were.  
  
Or was there?  
  
Standing up in his crib, Trunks was flailing his arms between the bars and howling. Walking over to him, Bulma picked the baby up and stared directly into his flushed face. "Trunks, listen to me," she said in a hard voice.  
  
Blinking at the unusual tone, the boy ceased his cries and stared at her curiously.  
  
"Can you sense Vegeta? Can you feel your father ki, Trunks?"  
  
"Bulma! He's only a little baby!" Her mother scolded.  
  
"A little half-Saiyan baby, you mean," Chi Chi told her, casting Bulma a questioning look. She knew what the other woman was trying to do but Trunks was only ten months old. Was he too young to understand?  
  
Directing the intensity of her blue eyes solely on the boy's, Bulma continued, "Do you know where your father went? Can you tell me where Vegeta is? Please!"  
  
Trunks' eyes widened in recognition of the Saiyan's name and his face betrayed a happy grin. Gurgling in excitement, he began waving a chubby fist northwards. "Vehta! VETA KI!"  
  
"That's my boy," Bulma praised, pulling him in close for a well-deserved hug while the others looked on in amazement.  
  
  
  
Vegeta was screaming again but it had nothing to do with getting laid or insignificant memories of his death. He was above such petty concerns now and his howls of accomplishment were the only means he could communicate his excitement.  
  
His arms were raised skywards as he gathered an enormous ball of destructive ki and he threw it at the city below him, bathing in the cinders of incinerated buildings. The bright fires of the Super Saiyan transformation radiated off of his body in waves and he was drunk on the power that suffused every single pore of his being. No drug or beverage could compare with this! It eclipsed everything in his mind; even sex was no comparison to the sensations involved with wielding this much raw energy. He was a GOD!  
  
His mad laughter rolled like thunder over the survivors of the city but they didn't have much time to dwell on it. With a flick of his fingers, Vegeta slaughtered them in their tracks. Another deadly barrage erased all signs that this had ever been a city at all. Only a smoldering crater, two kilometers wide, was testimony that anything had ever existed there.  
  
Watching the smoke settle with grim satisfaction, Vegeta wasn't even breathing hard from the effort. In the back of his mind, with newfound awareness, he could sense pathetic beings rapidly approaching to try and stop him.  
  
The wicked grin on his face only stretched wider from that knowledge. "Let them come," he said under his breath.  
  
He crossed his arms and chose to wait, eager to show-off his incredible might.  
  
  
  
------------------------------------------------------- If you want to be on the Mailing List, e-mail me at: darke_angelus@hotmail.com Or visit my web site at: www.angelfire.com/anime4/darkeside/home.htm -------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Fourteen: Vegeta's reign of terror continues! Who will be the person to vanquish him? Gohan?... Or a surprising ally? 


	14. Full Circle

Two Sides To A Story Chapter Fourteen  
  
  
  
When Yamcha sensed the initial spike in Vegeta's ki, he ceased his travels and immediately called Krillin for some news. None of it was good. The small monk had been speeding towards Capsule Corporation to retrieve Gohan and was unable to call ahead to Bulma to warn them of what had happened at the Look-Out. Yamcha tried calling her number himself and discovered that it was turned off for reasons unknown. He briefly debated turning back and decided against it. If Vegeta was back to his old murder-first/think-last self then his presence wouldn't help the outcome of the battle. In fact, more likely than not, he would only be in the way.  
  
Spurred on by more than simple curiosity now, Yamcha wasted no time in locating the Veteran's Hospital. Jacques City was in the same time zone as the Western Capital and he knew he had little hope of finding the physician at this late hour. At least he had a name to start with.  
  
Professor Gerald Willis.  
  
The front doors of the hospital were closed after ten o'clock so he went into Emergency. It was deserted and he wasted no time walking up to the admissions desk. "Can you help me? I'm looking for Doctor Gerald Willis."  
  
The nurse behind the glass partition didn't bother looking up from where she was playing solitaire on her computer. "Doctor Willis is a very busy man. Are you a patient of his?"  
  
"Yes," Yamcha lied and made a show of gripping his chest and releasing a less than convincing cough. "I need to see him. It's very important."  
  
"We have another doctor on duty-"  
  
"Please!" He started coughing and made a strangled sound deep in his throat. "I-I think I'm dying!"  
  
Casting him one cool glance that told him that she didn't believe the act for one second, the woman nevertheless reached for the phone. Hitting the speed dial, she waited for perhaps ten seconds and then said, "Hello, Doctor Willis? This is Debbie from Admissions. There is a patient here urgently requesting to see you." She went silent for a moment and then cupped the receiver as she turned to him, "Your name sir?"  
  
Yamcha decided to play the only card he had. "Vegeta."  
  
The nurse repeated it into the phone and went silent. For some reason her eyes went very wide and she hung up without a word. "He'll be here in less than fifteen minutes," she said, the surprise evident in her voice. Stepping around the counter, she led the shocked fighter into the emergency ward and directed him to an empty bed. "Doctor Willis wants you to rest here. Lay down if you'd like, he won't be long."  
  
"Thank you," Yamcha said, watching as she pulled the curtain around the bed to give him some privacy. As soon as he was left alone, he dropped the façade of the ailing patient and started fidgeting. In the back of his mind, he could feel the heightened ki's of Piccolo and Tien as they reacted to Vegeta's resurrection. Eclipsing all of them, was the sense of the Saiyan's own power; like the heavy air felt as a precursor to a tornado. He mentally followed their progress and lost track of time until someone swept the curtain aside, abruptly rousing him from his vigil.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" Willis thundered. "You're not V- You're not Garth Tucker!"  
  
"No," Yamcha told him honestly, "And I'm not Vegeta, either."  
  
Two security guards were flanking the harried-looking doctor and looking at him for guidance. "Do you want us to escort him out, sir?"  
  
The anger was plain on the tall man's face. Just as he started turning away, Yamcha blurted out, "You knew what he was, didn't you? Vegeta? Do you really want me to say it out loud right here?"  
  
His face dark with indignant rage, Willis turned back and cast the young fighter a calculating glance. Finally, he nodded to the guards; "I want to speak to him in private." Before they could react, he stepped close to the bed and swept the curtain closed.  
  
"I'll give you one minute before I have you thrown out," he said to Yamcha.  
  
"I'm with the Earth's Special Forces. Vegeta is a-" Yamcha practically strangled on the word, "...friend. He disappeared a few months ago and we couldn't understand what happened until he showed up again. We found out he was poisoned."  
  
The expression on the physician's face never changed. He merely nodded impatiently for the fighter to continue.  
  
"Somehow, this all ties into something top secret that involved Corporal Tucker... and you. Possibly even an alien named Frieza-" That got a startled grunt out of the man. Yamcha saw the immediate recognition that Willis betrayed and pounced on it, "It's true! You were an ally of that monster?"  
  
"It wasn't like that," Willis said in a rushed voice. "He merely helped us to control-"  
  
"He's still alive!?!" Yamcha shouted in horror.  
  
Shushing him quiet, the perturbed scientist moved in and began speaking in urgent whispers, filling in all of the gaps that Yamcha needed to know; Installation 15, the clone of Frieza, Vegeta's 'sedation', his ultimate escape. Willis didn't go into specifics, he really didn't need to, and the younger man had enough of an imagination to cover the deliberate holes in the story. Like some bad sci-fi movie, Vegeta had been captured, taken to a secret base, and experimented on. "I'm amazed he let you live," Yamcha said bitterly when the terrible tale was complete.  
  
"When he left this hospital, he was barely able to button his coat," Willis admitted, looking away. His indignation over Yamcha's nosiness had finally given way to obvious remorse, even shame, and it wasn't being faked for the fighters' benefit. "MRI scans revealed that the brain damage from Frieza's poison was progressive. On the day Vegeta left the hospital, I told him that he didn't have much time left. He was dying. Of course, he didn't believe me." He fixed Yamcha with a saddened expression. "He's dead, isn't he? That's why you're here."  
  
Just as Yamcha was about to explain recent events, one of the guards pulled the edge of the curtain to one side and poked his head in. "Professor? I'm sorry for disturbing you but I think you should see this."  
  
Reluctantly, Willis stepped out and followed the guard over to where the hospital staff was gathered around a television. Yamcha was about to join them when he felt the surge of malicious ki swamp his consciousness. He had to sit down on the bed as the room spun alarmingly around him. The sterile scents of the hospital were replaced by smoke and ash to his numbed senses and in his mind he could hear the wails of agony of slaughtered civilians.  
  
"Oh no," he said in an unsteady voice. "Vegeta...NO!"  
  
  
  
Krillin glanced nervously at the figure on his left but he didn't say anything. It was taxing precious reserves just keeping up with the youth's frantic speed and the wind flow would only have reduced his words to an intelligible garble. Honestly, he had no idea what he could possibly say to ease what the boy was feeling right now.  
  
Fixated on his course, Gohan was staring straight ahead and practically ignoring his friend. His youthful face was taut with dread and regret. In all of the battles he'd fought in recent years, this was the one he was dreading the most. It wasn't Vegeta's fault that his mind was damaged and he had reverted back to his murderous course. He had been tortured, shot and poisoned and had sacrificed what little was left of his life to help Bulma. It wasn't fair that he hadn't been allowed the just ending of dying a hero's death like Gokou. He had been resurrected and now everyone was expecting Gohan to put things back to right.  
  
I'll-I'll have to kill him, Gohan was thinking over and over. If Vegeta doesn't snap out of this, that's what I'll have to do. Oh, father- I don't think that I can!  
  
He had allowed the terse alien into a portion of his heart where only a chosen few were permitted to reside. Piccolo and Krillin were there, as were Bulma and the rest of the Z Fighters. It was inevitable that Vegeta would have secured a seat in that special spot and his odd hospitality, barely a day ago, had cinched the placement. More importantly, the Saiyan represented the sole tie to his alien heritage that the boy was beginning to thrive on. Gohan didn't want to lose Vegeta now. And he certainly didn't want to be the person responsible for erasing the very last surviving full- blooded Saiyan from the entire universe.  
  
Not fair, he thought as his eyes blurred with bitter tears. It's just not fair! I don't want this burden. I just want everything back the way it's supposed to be!  
  
A hand squeezed his upper arm and he pulled out of his morose thoughts to see Krillin close beside him. "Gohan, everything's going to be okay!" the former monk shouted over the wind.  
  
"I hope you're right!" the boy shouted back, but there was a mutual hopelessness in both of their eyes that words couldn't soothe.  
  
The pair settled back into tense silence again but it didn't last long. There was a rheumy orange glow on the horizon that was growing in intensity as they approached. Both fighter's unanimously slowed their course and dropped down lower as the first of ruined sights came into view. Houses on the outskirts of the conflagration were flaming pyres and the land and roads were twisted out of shape, as if on the receiving end of an earthquake.  
  
"This was no natural disaster," Krillin managed to say as they flew toward the heart of the burning city.  
  
"I know who caused it," Gohan whispered, looking around in stunned horror. Survivors had gathered in a few scattered groups but there seemed too few of them for what had been such a large city.  
  
They passed over a highway and saw the remains of crushed cars lying amid collapsed asphalt. Bodies were hanging out of some of the windows and nobody was moving... "Vegeta," he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut in a vain effort to block out the needless devastation. He was shaking his head in denial but when he looked down again, things were only getting worse. They had entered the business district and huge skyscrapers had been toppled over as if they were no more than a child's toy blocks. Once marvels of construction, the buildings were reduced to smoldering scrap and the air was thick with blinding oily smoke that carried a faint charnel smell of burning flesh. Gohan lost sight of Krillin in the grimy smoke but could hear the smaller fighter being noisily sick not far away.  
  
When they rejoined, Krillin was deathly pale and deliberately avoiding eye content in his embarrassment. The younger fighter didn't comment on the act, he was nauseous himself by what he was seeing all around him. Had he actually thought that he was prepared for this battle? This was an evil that eclipsed Cell and the Androids together; they had only been following a madman's programming. Vegeta was cruising along on instinct and blind hatred; things drilled into him by a ruthless alien tyrant who had destroyed star systems for pleasure. It was becoming brutally clear that Frieza's influence was dictating Vegeta's actions as if the villain were still alive. If not for the intermittent pulse of the Saiyan's ki, Gohan would have thought the crazed Icejin to be the alien responsible for this senseless carnage.  
  
In the center of the devastated city was an expansive crater, easily half a kilometer wide. The grey, scorched earth was smoking and virtually scrubbed clean of any landmarks except for some stubborn I-beams that had been twisted into odd, unrecognizable shapes. It was here that Gohan landed and Krillin followed suit. Encircling them on all sides, the fires of the ruined city blazed on.  
  
"Why did we stop here?" Krillin asked nervously, his eyes darting around in all directions. What unnerved him most was the silence. There was no sound of any emergency vehicle sirens, no screams of survivors or dying citizens. There wasn't even a snatch of wind to distract his dazed mind. He and Gohan might as well have been standing in a graveyard. It wasn't a comparison that brought him any comfort and he forced it quickly from his mind.  
  
Gohan was motioning him to be quiet. "Don't you sense that?"  
  
"Sense what?"  
  
Giving his head an irritated shake, he wandered around in an aimless pattern before kneeling down and staring at the singed dirt. "It's coming from right here."  
  
Krillin joined him, hunkering down and trying to focus his mind. It was impossible to do; he just couldn't pull his stunned thoughts together. "What is i-"  
  
A green fist punched its way through the impacted earth, right between his legs and he fell backwards, scrambling away from the source in blind terror. It took a few seconds before he recognized that flailing arm and jumped up to help Gohan pull Piccolo free. And the Namek wasn't alone. Tien clambered out after him, breathing raggedly and behind him came Android 18.  
  
"You're alive!" Gohan cried happily. It seemed that it had been years since he had last felt a smile on his face. He almost hugged his mentor but managed to contain his relief just in the nick of time. They weren't out of the woods yet. Not anywhere close. "When I felt your ki fade, I thought- I feared that you had-had-"  
  
"18 pulled us down a manhole shaft to safety just before Vegeta razed the city. Tien and I submerged our ki so that he couldn't sense us," said the huge alien as he dusted himself off and grumbled in displeasure. His clothes were tattered rags but aside from a few scrapes and bruises he looked in surprisingly good shape. Tien was in similar condition but 18 looked like she had seen some hand-to-hand combat. Her pale face was scuffed and her usually impeccable hair and clothes were filthy. She wasn't happy about it, either.  
  
Deliberately ignoring them, she pulled out a compact and tried to fix her make-up. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Krillin slowly coming up beside her and snapped, "Don't look at me, I'm a mess."  
  
"That's not possible," the smaller fighter said honestly. "I had no idea that you'd joined in the fight."  
  
"I was curious, that's all," she dismissed. "Besides, fighting with Vegeta is always a laugh riot." Adding an impartial shrug, she went back to wiping some grime off of her cheeks. What she really wanted was a very long, very hot shower to erase the memory of the Saiyan's lustful groping.  
  
Sensing that she wasn't in any mood to talk, Krillin nodded to himself and started to walk away. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you're okay-"  
  
"Krillin."  
  
He turned around and saw her staring at him. There was a rare smile on her face when she admitted, "I'm glad that you're okay, too."  
  
Standing a short distance away, the other fighters had grouped together to discuss strategy. "Gohan," Piccolo said in a rough voice. "It's bad. Vegeta ascended to a Super Saiyan during our fight."  
  
"So? He was that before!" Gohan piped up.  
  
Casting him a baleful glare, the Namek continued on as if he hadn't been disturbed. "As far as he knows, this is the first time he's made the transformation. He's intoxicated on the power. To make things even worse, he's now at the same level that he had battling Cell. That, combined with his damaged memory..."  
  
He didn't finish. He didn't have to. Gohan knew what he was trying to say; Vegeta was at the pinnacle of power and had the mindset of a crazed killer. Any edge that Gohan might have had over the Saiyan was now reduced to an even slate. The boy wasn't even sure if he would be capable of achieving the higher level of the Saiyan transformation he had flaunted over Cell. Exhaustion, fear and puberty aside, Gohan still did not hate Vegeta despite the evidence of carnage strewn around him. Deep down, he still knew that none of this was the alien's fault.  
  
Tien saw the indecision in the boy's face and spoke up, "Gohan, you're going to have to-"  
  
"I know what I have to do!" Gohan said sharply, fixing him with a glare that transformed him into a miniature copy of his father. "I have to-to stop him-"  
  
There was a cold chuckle nearby that made all of them turn in different directions to try and isolate the source. They were the only people standing in the crater and at a loss, until Tien looked up. "There!" he cried, pointing to the twisted metal beams that were nearby.  
  
One of the lumps of metal appeared to move until it became a figure standing over them. That silhouette against the flames was immediately recognizable, as were the twin dots of emerald rage where his eyes were and the gleaming of his teeth. "Welcome to my show," Vegeta greeted, adding a husky laugh of delight.  
  
  
  
"Faster, faster- Oh, why didn't I overhaul this piece of crap when I had the chance?" Bulma fretted as she held the yoke of the hoverjet in sweaty hands. She was pushing the engines to their maximum and the entire craft was shaking right down to the rivets. To make matters even worse, she didn't know if she was close to the battle or if it was still a continent away.  
  
Securely strapped into the passenger seat, Trunks was staring at the front window with single-minded intensity. His eyes were closed to bare slits and his pudgy cheeks were scarlet as he flailed his tiny fists in frustration as if to tell his mother; You have to make this bucket of bolts go even faster, momma! Hell- I can CRAWL faster than THIS!  
  
Bulma still didn't know if there was anything left of her rapport with Vegeta but she couldn't deny the urgency she felt trying to get reunited with him. "Oh god, Vegeta...Trunks, are you sure this is the way to your father?"  
  
"Me Vehta. KI!" the baby immediately shouted, motioning one little arm directly in front of him.  
  
"I guess so," she muttered, irritably moving one sweaty lock of hair out of her eyes. Chi-Chi and her parents hadn't wanted her to involve Trunks in this wild goosechase, urging her to wait for Yamcha to come back. For some reason, she got the impression that if she waited too long, there wouldn't be any reason to have to wait at all; by then they would all be ashes. With that grim thought weighing on her mind, she took the babe despite their heated objections.  
  
"And you... You willfully endangered the boy by bringing him into a combat area. What were you thinking?"  
  
Bulma actually jumped in place as if Vegeta had spoken into her ear. Both of her arms broke out in tingling goose bumps at the reminder of his words back in the hospital. He had been right. She'd had no right bringing Trunks along so that she could watch the battle against the androids. That fatal error had very nearly cost them both of their lives. He had every right to yell at her over it.  
  
Dare to dream that I'll get to hear you yell at me again, Bulma thought distressingly. She gripped the throttle and turned to Trunks. "Hold onto your diaper, young man. Your mother is going to warp speed!"  
  
She depressed the booster switch and was forced back into her seat as the hoverjet's auxiliary rockets fired and forced the small craft onto even greater speed.  
  
Not even reacting to the g-forces, Trunks only cried, "!!WHEEEE!!" and kept pointing north.  
  
  
  
"Well, well, well," Vegeta said as he jumped to the ground. "Looks like the gang's all here. Splendid. Now I won't have to waste any of my precious time tracking you losers down."  
  
The Z Fighters remained silent as he warily circled them, like a calculating lion searching for the weakest animal among gathered prey. Both Gohan and Krillin were struck dumb at the sight of his clothes, so much like the style the Trunks from the future had worn during much of his visit. For a split second, Gohan almost made the mistake that Tien had earlier in confusing the two. The resemblance between them was uncanny, clear testimony of their familial relationship. However, the teenager's eyes had never contained the dispassionate cruelty that the adult Saiyan now regarded them with.  
  
Piccolo was practically vibrating in the effort to control his temper. All along he had thought that he and Tien had been successfully hiding their power when it was obvious that Vegeta had sensed them all along. The Saiyan had simply bided his time until the others had showed up, attracted to the ruination of the city like moths to a flame and homing in on the distress of their friends. All he had to do was watch from the shadows while they were all finally reunited, not even having to lift a finger.  
  
Standing her ground, 18 kept her chin held high even as Vegeta paused in his stalking and fixed a thorough glare in her direction. For no reason that Krillin could figure out, 18's face tightened the longer the Saiyan's scrutiny lingered and her cheeks actually flushed. He thought it might be from anger but he wasn't entirely sure. The look in her steel blue eyes was a combination of disdain and excitement. After a moment of locking eyes, Vegeta's perpetual smirk widened and he moved on.  
  
"Where's Kakarrot and his brat? They're the only ones worth a damn in a fight," he stated after his inspection was over.  
  
"My father is dead," Gohan spoke up, taking a step forward. "But I'm ready to fight you, Vegeta. If I have to."  
  
"Get lost, boy. My quarrel is with a little rugrat about this high-" He held his hand up to his waist, "Not with you. Yet."  
  
"I've got news for you; that 'rugrat' was me over five years ago," Gohan insisted. "Smell my scent if you don't believe me."  
  
Vegeta didn't make a move towards him. He could smell the boy from where he was standing and personal scents never lied. This was, indeed, the youth he had battled only a month or two before. Wasn't it? Yet, here he was now; an adolescent. The first threads of indecision began to spark in Vegeta's eyes at long last.  
  
Sensing a lapse in the Saiyan's resolve, Gohan continued. "Vegeta, you've been really sick the last couple of month's. You still haven't recovered. We're only trying to help."  
  
"Do I look like I need your help? Look at me!" Vegeta shouted, spreading his arms. He powered up and the glowing nimbus of energy sheathed his frame, rousing the dirt into miniature dust devils around his feet. "I'm a Super Saiyan! You're nothing compared to me!"  
  
Words aren't going to have any impact here, Gohan realized. "Fine, your ears won't listen. Maybe your eyes will see."  
  
"What the hell are you babbling ab-" Vegeta's words tumbled to a halt as he detected a sharp spike in the youth's ki. The boy was powering up right before his eyes, jumping past levels at an alarming rate until that aura ignited into a soundless display of light. Where a dark-haired boy had been standing was now a blond, green-eyed, glowing powerhouse.  
  
He was witnessing another Super Saiyan.  
  
"Not...possible," Vegeta choked, taking one wandering step backwards.  
  
"You made the transformation before I did," Gohan told him, relieved by the reaction he saw. He allowed that confusion to drop his guard a little and his voice became almost conversational as he said, "You became that right before the Androids appeared and you really kicked butt. My father was the first-"  
  
Piccolo, who had been observing from the sidelines, now looked up in alarm. "Gohan, don't mention-"  
  
"-When he defeated Frieza," the boy finished proudly.  
  
"Shit." The Namek slapped his forehead in frustration.  
  
"Kakarrot defeated Frieza?" Vegeta said in a numb voice. Before Gohan could respond, the Saiyan released a roar of hatred and his corona of energy flared outwards until he was glowing like a small star. "If anyone is going to defeat Frieza, it's going to be ME!" he screamed. "How dare that third- class trash interfere with my birthright!?"  
  
"Vegeta, what's done is done," Gohan was trying to reason. He understood, too late, that the mere mention of Frieza was like waving a red flag in front of a rabid bull.  
  
"I will have my vengeance," Vegeta snarled. "If I can't exact it from Kakarrot or Frieza, then I guess I'll just have to take it out of YOU!"  
  
You can try, Gohan was going to say but in that instant of transmission between his mind to his mouth, Vegeta propelled himself forward and slammed into him. The boy flew backwards from the blow, his momentum forcing him to collide with the far edge of the crater. One more meter to the left and a jagged spear of shrapnel would have punched into his back and out through his stomach. He had barely shaken off that near miss when Vegeta was in front of him again, snarling in rage. He barely managed to leap into the air before one glowing fist smashed into the dirt.  
  
"Vegeta! Listen to me!" Gohan persisted but all he got for his efforts was a sky lit by a multitude of exploding ki bolts. It was one of Vegeta's most spectacular displays and the rapid-fire assault blinded the stunned youth. The shockwaves bombarded him from all sides and were impossible to evade. When he dropped out of the sky in an effort to escape them, the Saiyan was there, not permitting him any chance to catch a breath.  
  
Lightening fast punches and kicks were exchanged between the pair until they became a blur to the gathered fighters standing helplessly on the sidelines. Mini whirlwinds of disturbed dust and the odd flash of energy were the only means that Piccolo and the others could keep track. Only 18, with her superior vision, was able to actually follow the frenzied battle. For most of the fighting, it was Gohan who was on the defensive. "The boy is going to lose if he doesn't stop holding back," she commented, crossing her arms in disgust.  
  
Piccolo glanced at her and then tried to focus on Gohan with his mental sense. The youth was nowhere near the power level that he had flaunted over Cell. "Gohan!" he yelled into the dark where blurred images of the antagonists met and rebounded. "Reasoning with Vegeta isn't going to help! You're going to have to power up!"  
  
"You're stronger than this?" Vegeta paused long enough to glare at him. He was barely winded. "Show me."  
  
All during the frenzied combat Gohan had been trying to achieve that elusive boost to his power. He had tried calling forth images of his father's final moments, Trunks death, the sight of his friends all beaten by Cells attacks; to no avail. Because this was Vegeta: father of Trunks, friend (and more) to Bulma, reluctant ally of the Z Fighters. Most importantly, he represented something very personal to Gohan, who was still aching from the loss of his father. The youth was desperate for someone to fill that massive void. Piccolo soothed some of the pain but it wasn't nearly enough. He needed a male Saiyan presence in his life and Vegeta was the only one left.  
  
"I can't," he said in response to the demand. "Please try to understand-"  
  
"I said- SHOW ME!" Vegeta bellowed and swept in, knocking him out of the sky with a deliberate kick to the jaw.  
  
Like a missile in decent, Gohan plowed into the ruins of a building and the remainder of the rubble collapsed around him with a sound like thunder.  
  
"!!GOHAN!!" Piccolo roared. As he started to move forward, a blazing arc of blue fire cut a trench directly in front of his feet.  
  
"Stay your place, Namek!" Vegeta cautioned from above. His left hand was in that unmistakable palm-up position and Piccolo froze in place. "This battle is unresolved between the boy and myself. I won't permit any interference like the last time." He glanced at the others who were starting to fan out. "That goes for the rest of you, too. Stand down or die."  
  
"Screw you, Vegeta!" Tien yelled at him. "I'm not going to wait around and take a number for you to eventually get to me. We're all in this together!"  
  
"Speak for yourself," 18 muttered under her breath. Before Krillin could protest, the android gathered the back of his shirt and flew away in the opposite direction, hauling him along beside her. As far as she was concerned, she had done her part earlier. All she cared about now was rescuing the only human who meant anything to her and the rest could fend for themselves. Despite all of the recent changes to her programming, there was nothing wrong with her self-preservation software. 18 knew that she was now out of Vegeta's league.  
  
"And then there were two," Vegeta said with undisguised amusement as he stared at the remaining fighters.  
  
"Damn it! Why won't you listen to us?" Piccolo shouted. "This fighting is senseless!"  
  
"For a Saiyan, there's no such thing."  
  
Tien had enough of trying to reason with the arrogant alien. He gathered his fingers in a triangle shape and released a bolt of concentrated ki before Piccolo could stop him.  
  
Vegeta waited until the last minute and then slapped it away as if he were swatting a fly. The disk flew to the edge of the city and detonated with a flash of destructive energy. Tien could have sworn that he heard screams amid the explosion and his worst fears were realized when the Saiyan remarked in an off-hand manner, "Tsk. Tsk. You really should be more careful with those. Oh well, at least that's one less batch of survivors to worry about."  
  
"You son of a bitch!" Tien screamed.  
  
"Don't bring my mother into this or you just might make me angry," Vegeta teased.  
  
Just as Tien was about to rush forward, Piccolo grabbed onto his arm and hauled him roughly back. "Don't be an idiot. He's only trying to bait you, don't you see that?"  
  
"What else can we do?" Tien asked desperately.  
  
"You can die," Vegeta sighed, finally bored of the conversation. His palm glowed with deadly fire but before he could release the blast, Gohan appeared out of nowhere and plowed into him. The pair went flying into the nearby debris, creating an enormous cloud of dust and ash. Piccolo and Tien lost sight of them but it was clear that the pair were clashing with unchecked ferocity. Flashes of rogue ki bolts exploded in the mangled ruins of the city and partial structures collapsed from the violence. When Vegeta and Gohan took to the air to continue their frenzied conflict, it was impossible to tell one from the other; both of their powers were at a stalemate.  
  
Sensing the boy's present level, Tien hissed at Piccolo, "What the hell does Gohan think he's playing at? He should be realizing by now that Vegeta can't be reasoned with. He needs to power up and finish him for good!"  
  
"I'm not sure that he can," the Namek said in a low voice, very different from his usual bass rumble. One of the combatants, most likely Vegeta, released a blue tinged ball of flame that the other dodged easily. It collided with the ground and exploded with enough force to cause the ground to shake.  
  
Tien pulled his eyes away from the battle long enough to glance at the tall alien. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"When Gohan powered up against Cell, he became overconfident. That lapse in judgment forced Gokou to sacrifice himself in an attempt to set things right. When Cell returned deadlier than ever, Gohan still lacked the necessary killing instinct. Do you remember how close that end nearly was before he came to his senses?" Not giving the huge human a chance to respond, Piccolo added, "The boy has no desire to kill."  
  
"It's Vegeta's second-nature."  
  
"I know," Piccolo whispered, bowing his head. Very suddenly, he didn't want to witness anymore of the fighting. He knew how it was going to end and there was nothing he could do to prevent the outcome. It was now out of his hands.  
  
  
  
"Let-me-GO!!" Krillin hollered. He gave one frantic pull and the top half of his uniform ripped off in 18's grip, freeing him.  
  
Discarding the rag, the android came to an abrupt halt in her retreat and reluctantly went back to where the small monk was waiting for her. His round face was flushed and livid. "What the hell do you think you're doing, 18?"  
  
"I'm saving you," she responded matter-of-factly.  
  
"Do I look like I need saving?!"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Glaring at her, Krillin snapped, "I've been in skirmishes worse than this. I don't need you to protect me!"  
  
Tucking a wayward strand of blond hair behind her left ear, she sniffed and turned her head away. "I won't make that mistake again," she said in a wounded voice and turned to leave.  
  
"18!" It was too late; the insulted android powered up and flew swiftly away until she was quickly out of sight. He waited for another minute, hoping that she would have a change of heart but it was obvious that she wasn't coming back.  
  
"Ahhhh crap," he muttered in frustration, turning his back on wherever it was she went. Her 'abduction' of him had actually been quite flattering in its intent; she only wanted to see that he stayed out of harms way. Emotions were new to her and actions were the only means that she could communicate that she actually cared. He was going to have to do some serious groveling to get himself back into her good graces but now was NOT the time.  
  
Just as he was about to return to the center of the city where the battle was raging, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked down. Shadows were moving quickly through the debris, a great many of them and they were heading in the same direction. The figures blended in with the charred surroundings and were difficult to pinpoint, but more than once Krillin was sure that he spotted the glint of firelight bouncing off of smooth metal.  
  
"Uh oh," he whispered.  
  
  
  
Diving between two smashed tractor-trailer rigs, Gohan tried to get his breath back as a flurry of destructo disks punched through the metal on his right side. There was thump from above and when he spared a glance upwards, Vegeta was kneeling on the twisted trailer and grinning down at him. "There you are. Have I ever mentioned how much I enjoy hide and seek?"  
  
Not wasting the energy for a response, Gohan propelled himself backwards and knocked the rig over, upsetting the Saiyan. It gave the boy a chance to focus his power and when he took to the air, Vegeta was rushing up to meet him. The pair exchanged a near-fanatical series of blasts that rocked what was left of the city right down to its mutilated core. The combined might of conflicting power caused fissures to open in the ruined earth and lightening to dance in the turbulent clouds.  
  
"You're strong, boy," Vegeta praised, breathing heavily now. He had discarded the leather jacket long ago and his muscles bunched beneath his ripped tank top. He threw a kick that the boy repelled and the pair locked arms and wills as they glared at one another. "But it's not enough, can't you sense that? You're just about used up!"  
  
There was going to be no miraculous intervention here, Gohan realized with bitter remorse. Vegeta wasn't going to come to his senses in the nick of time. The youth brought his knee up under the Saiyan's chin and, with tears in his eyes, he cupped his hands to his side. "Kame-"  
  
"That's the spirit, boy!" Vegeta howled maniacally. His personal aura of gold took on a more disturbed hue as he drew on his own destructive energies. It pulsated with a threatening purple tinge as he gathered the strength for an attack all his own.  
  
"-Hame-" The boy's slight form was glowing like a star about to go super- nova. In his hands, an energy ball filled with righteous fire was growing in intensity.  
  
"Bring it on!" Vegeta shouted over the roar of thunder. "I'm ready for you with my-"  
  
-Final Flash Attack? The words whipped through his mind, leaving only confusion in their wake. What the FUCK is a Final Flash Att-  
  
"!!HAH!!" Gohan screamed, his voice breaking on the syllable. From his hands exploded a massive channel of destructive might aimed solely at the bewildered Saiyan.  
  
The pent up energies of an aborted Gallic Gun Attack turned into a desperate shield that Vegeta barely brought up in time. As it was, the blast shattered the ki wall and bathed him mercilessly in white-hot fire. His entire body alight, he dove screaming into the ruins where Gohan lost sight of him.  
  
He hesitated. Vegeta actually hesitated. I saw it! the boy realized with newfound hope in his wide eyes. That emotion was immediately joined by another: horror. He had hit the Saiyan point blank with a Kamehameha Blast and probably wounded him or-or worse. Swallowing, he gathered his nerve and gave chase.  
  
Not far away, Vegeta had found a ruptured hydrant and was rolling his body in the mud to extinguish the flames. His clothes had saved him from the worst of the blast but both of his bare arms were burned and his entire body was smoldering under the torrent of gushing water. He got to his knees, gasping for air and starting to shiver from the cold spray. Water ran into his eyes, obscuring his surroundings and when he wiped the moisture away, he found himself on a planet he didn't recognize. Overhead, the sky was a hazy but unmistakable green.  
  
Where am I? he thought and on the heels of that came the answer: Namek. You're on Namek. The place where you died, remember?  
  
A sharp lance of pain pierced his brain like a laser and he gripped his skull and fell into the mud, thrashing against the onslaught of returning memories. It was in this state that Gohan found him. "Vegeta, what can I do?" he asked, kneeling beside the ailing Saiyan.  
  
Squinting up at him, Vegeta saw the boy's face warp and change until it became a lavender-haired youth with piercing blue eyes. A name was on the tip of his tongue but still unnervingly beyond his reach. The pain drilled down deeper and the image distorted into a pale, bald creature with black lips curled into a cruel grin. THAT face he could name.  
  
Kicking out, Vegeta knocked Gohan away and scrambled backwards until he was back on his feet. The singing in his head was galvanizing, making clear thought impossible and he dug his nails into his scalp until he drew blood. "Get out- Get out- GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"  
  
"Vegeta, you're sick. You need to get some help," Gohan persisted.  
  
Baring his teeth in clear warning, Vegeta shook his head violently and was about to attack the threat when a voice filled his mind.  
  
Please listen to Gohan, Vegeta!  
  
The Saiyan visibly faltered. "Kah-Kakarrot?"  
  
He's worried about you, we all are. Please let him help you before it's too late.  
  
The voice faded and took away some of the agony that interfered with conscious thought and the surroundings slowly came back into focus. When Vegeta looked up again, he didn't see Trunks or Frieza or a half a dozen other ghosts. All he saw was a scared little boy who was holding his hand out towards him. His name was- was... "Gohan."  
  
"I'm here for you, Vegeta. I'm not going anywhere," the boy was actually crying. "I'm not going to lose you, too."  
  
Hesitating for only a second, Vegeta started to reach out to that offered hand. Just before he made contact, Gohan's senses screamed danger and he rushed forward to shove Vegeta out of the way. A split second later, a bullet punched through Gohan's left shoulder and spun him around. He landed on the ground, gripping the wound with a shaking hand, trying to staunch the blood flow. He locked eyes with Vegeta who was staring at him with dawning realization.  
  
This... has happened before, Vegeta thought and grimaced as he rubbed his aching temple. A memory surfaced where he was lying in the dirt where Cell had thrown him and the boy was there, his left arm lying useless by his side. A mere child had saved his life and all that he could say in feeble apology was, "I'm sorry, Gohan. I am."  
  
When he looked up again, a dozen soldiers were flanking them on all sides and growing in number, emerging from the ruins as if by magic. Their camouflage made identification difficult but all that Vegeta cared about were the rifles that were aimed at him. The weapons looked familiar and the number fifteen floated in his mind for no good reason. The confusion plagued him even as two figures landed nearby and Vegeta homed in on the one dressed in white.  
  
"Hello, Vegeta," Professor Gerald Willis said in an even voice. Beside him, Yamcha was staring at all of the devastation like a man confronting his worst nightmare. When he had stopped sightseeing long enough, he finally noticed Gohan for the first time. "Oh no!" He ran over to the boy and shouted back to the doctor, "You told me that no one was going to get hurt!"  
  
Ignoring him, Willis and Vegeta stared at one another while the fighter fussed over the boy. "Quite the handiwork. I'm impressed," the doctor remarked, extending a hand towards the vast wreckage.  
  
"Thanks," Vegeta said, trying desperately to place the face to a name.  
  
"You're not welcome." The doctor's face became as hard as stone. "These deaths lie on my conscience, not yours. I should have ended your life in the hospital when I had the chance. This is what I get for being charitable." From his coat pocket, he pulled out small black container and from it, extracted a small needle. "Are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"  
  
The sight of that green-tinged liquid in the minuscule container made all of the moisture in Vegeta's mouth dry up. He shook his head and attempted one wandering step back. In reaction to the move, all of the soldiers brought their rifles around and focused on his head and heart.  
  
"What's going on?" Yamcha shouted. He had an arm around Gohan's waist, supporting the dazed youth who was trying to collect his bearings. "You said you were just going to help Vegeta. What the hell do you think you're doing?"  
  
"This is far more concentrated than the watered-down version we used at the Installation," Willis said in a quiet, unthreatening voice. "You won't even feel any pain. I promise."  
  
Starting to shake, Vegeta looked first at the needle and then at the doctor and finally to the surroundings. Nothing made any sense any more. His memories were a jumbled mess that needed time to be sorted through but for some reason he got the impression that time was running out. He could only stare back to the doctor in confusion as the man moved in; his cherished Super Saiyan form slipping away from his grasp with each passing second.  
  
"Vegeta! Snap out of it!" yelled Yamcha, of all people, just as the doctor was about to push the needle into his flesh.  
  
Reacting as if he were slapped, Vegeta wrenched his arm away and took one really good look at the doctor. "I... remember you," he muttered. It was the truth: All at once he remembered all of the tortures of Installation 15. The bewilderment passed from his face and was replaced with its previous hostility. Before Willis could react, Vegeta drove his fist through the man's stomach and out through his back. The doctor vomited a huge gout of blood and blinked at him in amazement. "Y-you..."  
  
"Give my best to Frieza," Vegeta snarled and threw the dying scientist into the path of some of the soldiers as the others were sighting in. Yamcha propelled himself into the air with Gohan close beside him as the sound of gunfire and the flash of light were virtually simultaneous. When the smoke cleared, the Saiyan was the only one left standing.  
  
"What- Who was that-?" Gohan was stammering. He had reverted back to his human form and his perforated shoulder was throbbing agony.  
  
"Later," Yamcha told him. "I'll explain everything later." He felt acute remorse for the boy's wound because he had been the one to lead the doctor and the army troops straight to Vegeta. Willis had assured him that he could help and the fighter had believed him. More and more, he was beginning to understand Vegeta's distrust of humans.  
  
Wandering around in the recently disturbed dirt, Vegeta caught a glimpse of glass and bent down to brush through the ash. What his fingers found was the needle, miraculously unbroken. He lost his hold on his transformed state and fell to his knees once the corona of power lifted. All at once he felt tired and old and weak. A part of his mind that appeared unscathed from the pounding between his temples picked up the presence of three more fighters rapidly approaching. It didn't matter if they were coming to fight or help, Vegeta didn't care anymore as he looked at the lone needle lying in his palm. All that he cared about was that they had been right all along and he had been wrong. Again. These constant failures were becoming more than he could bear.  
  
Yamcha wasn't sure what to say or do, distracted by his desire to get Gohan some medical help and to stay and talk with Vegeta. He wasn't entirely sure that things were actually finished here. It came as a relief when Piccolo landed beside him, followed by Krillin and Tien. The small monk had sought out the other two and warned them that soldiers were prowling the ruins. They had subdued a few of the cadres but it was apparent that they hadn't dispatched them fast enough. "Gohan!"  
  
"I'm okay. It's just a scratch," the boy tried to dismiss the injury. Unwinding his turban, Piccolo used the wrapping as a makeshift bandage while he kept a veiled eye on Vegeta. "How is he?"  
  
"His memories came back after I hit him with a Kamehameha," Gohan said. "I think he's still pretty out of it, though."  
  
"What's he got in his hand?"  
  
"Frieza's poison," Yamcha piped up. "I tracked down the doctor who had experimented on him. He had a refined sample to use on Vegeta just..." he cast an uneasy glance at Gohan. "Y'know, just in case. I didn't think that he was actually going to try and use it."  
  
Piccolo was certain that Yamcha's naivety was going to be the death of them all. Casting the fighter a disapproving glare, he sauntered over to where the Saiyan was still kneeling in the dirt. "Vegeta, it's over. It's time to leave."  
  
"Over," Vegeta echoed in a numb voice. He looked around like a man coming out of a dream. "I...killed them all."  
  
"It's nothing that the dragonballs can't fix," the Namek dismissed. He reached for the other alien's arm with the intension of hauling him to his feet and got a brutal shock that numbed his arm all the way up to the elbow. "Yee-owch! Vegeta, what the hell-"  
  
"Leave me alone," Vegeta said in a stronger voice. "I can't make much sense of what's in my head but I remember this part. We had this discussion before."  
  
"What the hell are you babbling about-" His words tumbled to a halt when the Saiyan poked the needle into his forearm and positioned his thumb directly over the plunger. "I mean it, Namek. Back off. You're not going to knock me out and take me to an accursed hall of mirrors this time. Let me think on this."  
  
"Vegeta-" At a rare loss for words, the Namek could only back up where the others were waiting. Tien didn't like the stunned look on the alien's face. He looked from the Namek to Vegeta and back again. "Piccolo, what's going on?"  
  
"Yamcha, get Gohan to Dende's Look-Out so that he can have his wounds healed. Tien and Krillin; go lend some aid to the survivors."  
  
"Sure, Piccolo, but-"  
  
"Do it!" the Namek hissed at them, baring his fangs. They did as ordered with only Gohan really protesting about leaving the scene, perhaps sensing some of his mentor's apprehension. Piccolo deliberately shut his mind to the boy's probing thoughts and that action only worried him more. Left alone, the Namek crossed his arms and began his grim vigil.  
  
Vegeta dismissed him as soon as he was out of sight. Images flashed through his mind of half-remembered battles and people he couldn't immediately place a name to. Each vision left the sensation of a claw mark across his vulnerable mind until it felt as if his brain was criss-crossed with gashes. Even worse, the memories came in no particular order. One second he was in the Room of Spirit and Time and the next, he was battling Dodoria on Namek. The visions became a dizzying assortment of shutter clicks until he threw back his head and screamed from the agony of it. It was too much! TOO MUCH! The sensory overload was killing him but slowly- Much too slowly...  
  
Sweat ran down his face like bitter tears. His thumb was about to push down on the plunger and end his suffering once and for all when-  
  
-VEHHTAHHH!  
  
He released a startled grunt at the intensity of the thought that plowed through his mind. Even more shocking was how that innocent cry seemed to sooth some of the torture that was going on in his head.  
  
Nearby, Piccolo grumbled deep in his throat when he caught sight of Bulma's hoverjet dropping in for a landing. Despite his better judgment, he left Vegeta's side and intercepted Bulma as she was getting out of the cockpit with Trunks in her arms. "Oh my God, would you look at all of this?" she commented in a stunned voice. It was even worse then she could have ever imagined and kneeling several meters away was the sole source of the carnage. Her face only tightened with resolve and she started walking until Piccolo stepped in front of her. "Bulma, this isn't a good time."  
  
Craning her head up to look at him, Bulma wasn't intimidated in the least. "Get out of my way, Piccolo! I have to get to Vegeta!"  
  
"He's still not in his right mind," the alien cautioned. "You might be doing more harm than good if you disturb him."  
  
Leaning around his bulk Bulma saw that Vegeta was sitting hunched over, apparently talking to himself. "I have to go to him, Piccolo. Please!"  
  
The Namek wasn't about to give up one inch until his antennae twitched and he focused his gaze on the child Bulma was carrying. Trunks was staring at his father with unnatural attention and even more striking-  
  
-the child's ki level was rising.  
  
"Trunks?" It dawned on Bulma that the baby felt unusually warm, as if he was burning up with a fever and she couldn't help but notice that he was faintly glowing.  
  
Piccolo stepped quickly aside and let them pass, trailing along after them like a curious hawk. Bulma immediately sat herself down in the dirt beside the stricken alien and she released a choked sound when she caught sight of the needle. "Oh... Vegeta..."  
  
He blinked and looked around, noticing her for the first time. "I know you," he rasped out. "Back on Namek. You were cheering on Zarbon during our fight-" He shouted out in pain and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. Piccolo swept in and plucked the needle from his arm, crushing it under his shoe before the Saiyan could react. Once that was done, he began to feel a little better until he caught one good look at the suffering trio. It was enough to put a damper on his spirits.  
  
"We'll get you home and heal you, Vegeta." Bulma was trying not to burst into tears but she was fighting a losing battle. He just looked so AWFUL! "You-you're going to be alright!"  
  
"Agh-SHIT! This HURRRRTS!" Vegeta screamed, bowing over with the pain.  
  
Thrashing in his mother's arms, Trunks leaned over and caught handfuls of Vegeta hair in his chubby fists. Bulma was going to pull him away until she noticed that the boy's glow had intensified and Vegeta wasn't shivering in pain anymore. Casting a confused glance at Piccolo, she decided to wait out the strange communion.  
  
Innocent pictures awash with bright colors and gentle scents; this was a perspective from a baby's point of view. Memories that contained no malice or emotion but were just images of the world that was still fresh and new and exciting. A simple blade of grass was the dazzling color of emeralds and had the sensation of silk. A butterfly was a flying marvel that floated on the air currents like magic- impossible to comprehend. Conscious thought was inconsequential, a symbiosis of emotion mixed with pictures spared the limitations of words. Gentle scents of family and friends carried assurances of love and tenderness. Added to the mix were the tastes, smells and appearance of meals that dominated this particular land of perceptions; from breast to bottle to spoon. It was a comfort that became associated with all other things until they were intertwined.  
  
This was Trunks world. And right now, he was sharing it with his father.  
  
Through their rapport, he could feel the poison-thoughts hurting the one he called Vehta. As far back as he could remember, this adult always carried that pain around with him. Sometimes it hovered in the background like a kite on a string or was whirling around like a dog chasing its tail. All that the boy cared about was that the visions seemed to be constantly plaguing his father. Lately though, they had gotten much worse until there were very few good thoughts left. Right now, there were hardly any at all. With a determination and skill far beyond his young age, Trunks forced the poison-thoughts away, filling that void with his own memories. Like shadows before purest light, the dark images receded to the corners of Vegeta's mind where they could be sorted out and examined over time; not all at once. That wailing agony was gradually replaced with a soft, gentle sound that was a cross between a mother's lullaby and the purring of a cat.  
  
"DAH!" Trunks said triumphantly, releasing his hold of Vegeta's hair. His brief aura dissipated without his being aware of it and he clapped his hands in excitement. "Vehta! Dah-da-YAH!"  
  
Drawing in a ragged breath, Vegeta slowly straightened and stared at the baby, blinking in amazement. He reached out with trembling fingers and touched the boy's cheek, as if trying to prove to himself that this vision was real. His lips mouthed words and Bulma had to lean in closer to hear what he was saying. She discovered that they were two simple words but they meant so much more. Her heart surged with hope for their future.  
  
His words to Trunks were: "Thank you."  
  
  
  
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Chapter Fifteen: Bulma tries to gain back Vegeta's trust. 


	15. Semblance of Normalcy

Two Sides To A Story Chapter Fifteen  
  
  
  
For the second time in an hour, she checked up on him.  
  
Peering into the darkened bedroom, Bulma's eyes fell upon the figure lying in a huddled ball of blankets. She walked inside, crossing the room soundlessly and approached the bed, sitting down on its edge. She extended a hand towards the lone occupant. "Vegeta."  
  
Beneath the covers, the Saiyan released a sound that was either a moan or a weary growl. Taking the hint, Bulma pulled her hand back and remained where she was, staring at him with a worried frown. All she could see of him was a gnarled mess of short hair spikes and part of one eyebrow; the rest was hidden under the blankets. She knew that he was injured but aside from allowing her to take him back to Capsule Corporation, he had made it clear that he wanted to be left alone. Initially, her intention had been to take him back to the Look-Out but she shelved that suggestion when he started pulling on the release to the hoverjet exit. He hadn't reacted much better when she tried to guide him to the Headquarter building's infirmary. Whatever he had suffered through during his absence, it was becoming clear that needles weren't his only fear.  
  
"You're going to get through this," she whispered, brushing her fingers lightly along his hair. Reacting to the contact, he ducked his head under the blankets like a turtle and made that low warning sound again. She could see the outline of his body was shaking.  
  
Getting back to her feet, Bulma walked to the door. "We're going to get through this together," she promised him and left the room as quietly as she entered.  
  
Her parents looked at her expectantly when she walked down the stairs to the living room. Waiting with them was Chi Chi who was glaring daggers at Piccolo. The dour alien insisted on maintaining his vigil just in case Vegeta reverted back to his destructive persona. He was staring back at Gohan's mother with equal disdain.  
  
"Oh, Bulma- How is he?" Mrs. Briefs asked in a fretful tone.  
  
"The same, mom," Bulma responded, sitting down beside her. In the last twenty-four hours she felt as if she had aged ten years. Of them all, only little Trunks appeared unfazed by all of the excitement. He was currently asleep in his crib with a rare smile on his peaceful features. "He won't let me look at his injuries. All he wants to do is sleep."  
  
"What do you expect?" Piccolo rumbled. "It's been barely two hours since he battled Gohan. Let sleeping Saiyans lie."  
  
"Where is Gohan?" Chi Chi snapped. "I thought that you said my little boy wasn't badly hurt!"  
  
"He's probably still at the Look-Out. Dende was very weak from performing several healings in a short period of time. It might take awhile," Piccolo offered. He had kept the nature of the boy's injuries purposely vague to avoid exciting the woman. He had already faced the wrath of one raving lunatic and didn't need any more grief from another.  
  
Bulma was barely registering the conversation, lost in her own thoughts. What would have happened if they hadn't showed up when they did? Vegeta had been on the cusp of self-destruction, lured back to rationality by his son. What had Trunks done to him? There were so many questions that plagued away at her, building in intensity with each hour. She could hardly wait to speak with Yamcha. Piccolo had told her that the fighter had tracked down the doctor responsible for Vegeta's state. Once he returned, she knew that she would finally get the answers that she so desperately needed.  
  
She was interrupted from her musings by a hand that closed over her own. "Daughter," her father said, "Everything is going to turn out just fine. Vegeta is finally home where he belongs-"  
  
All at once, Chi Chi jumped to her feet with an outraged hiss. She was six months pregnant and heavily showing but she was still remarkable lithe. "How on earth can you say that?! Look what he did to Ivory City! He murdered all of those people and you're welcoming him back with open arms?! I don't believe this!"  
  
Piccolo attempted, "When the Dragonballs are charged, we can-"  
  
"There you go again; using the Dragonballs to correct the damage done by a madman! When are you ever going to learn? He's lying helpless in bed, why don't you finish him off before he kills again?"  
  
"Oh!" Mrs. Briefs put her hand to her mouth in shock. Beside her, even Bulma was struck dumb by the callous suggestion. Of them all, only Dr. Briefs fixed the brunette with a calm, level stare. "There will be no killing under this roof. I've made this clear to Vegeta in the past and it's obvious that I have to make it clear to you."  
  
"You're comparing that-that monster to ME?!" Chi Chi shouted. Her skin actually crawled with the thought of any similarities between the two of them. "All that Vegeta knows how to do is kill and you're letting him back into this building as if nothing happened. Thousands of people are dead! Don't you see that? He murdered them all in cold blood!"  
  
"He wasn't in his right mind," Piccolo said. "There were circumstances that you don't understand-"  
  
"I would figure that YOU would come to his defense, monster!" Chi Chi hissed at him with such ferocity that even the Namek recoiled in shock. "You're no better than that rotten Saiyan- So stay out of this! I haven't forgotten that you stole my Gohan away from me just when I lost my dear husband-" the first time, she almost added but managed to bite the reminder back just in the nick of time. "Stay out of this," she cautioned in a calmer voice while rubbing her stomach.  
  
"Alright, enough is enough," Bulma said, rising to her feet to face her stricken friend. "'Chi, you have to try and calm down and face the fact that Vegeta is as welcome here as you and Gohan are. He's Trunks' father! I'm not going to send him away or-or do anything else."  
  
"I can't be in the same house as him. I won't allow it. Either he goes or I go," Chi Chi announced, holding her head high and putting her hands on her hips, waiting for the answer.  
  
She didn't get the response she was hoping for. "I'm sorry, 'Chi," Bulma said sadly, "but Vegeta is staying right here. I just hope that you can try and see past your- CHI CHI!"  
  
Feeling utterly humiliated, the brunette turned around and stamped off towards the kitchen where she disappeared. Conversation was just resuming when she exited the room and stamped up the stairs to the second level where their personal quarters resided. Nobody said anything to her, recognizing that look of crazed purpose on her face. Bulma was about to follow after her, suspecting that something didn't appear quite right until Piccolo announced, "Gohan and Yamcha are coming."  
  
Gone were all suspicions as Bulma rushed to the front door, eager for the explanation that would finally put all of her fears to rest.  
  
Upstairs, Chi Chi waited until she was out of the sight of the others before she withdrew from her sleeve the foot-long butcher knife she had retrieved from the kitchen. Wiping one sweaty hand on her thigh, she gripped the handle with a secure grip and approached the closed door of Vegeta's bedroom. It would be a simple thing to do, she assured herself. Enter the room, approach the bed, and slit Vegeta's throat. Quick, easy and a far faster death than he actually deserved. She was the only one in the entire Son family who could kill the farm livestock for the supper table. She knew just the right amount of pressure to use for the task.  
  
I'll just imagine him to be the pig he is, she thought, adding a nod. Taking several deep breaths, she turned the knob and flung open the door, her eyes immediately seeking out her target in the low light.  
  
The bed was empty.  
  
She had to blink to make sure that she wasn't mistaken. The lamp on the nightstand was set to low and aside from a few discarded blankets, the room was vacant. Chi Chi figured that it meant the Saiyan was in the bathroom and, being awake, would no longer be an easy target. She couldn't risk her baby in a struggle and left the room as quickly as she entered, her heart pounding in her chest at the close call. If he had spotted her...  
  
She went to her room and began the task of getting packed, her thoughts as slow and ponderous as her movements. There was little to look forward to at Mount Paozu; no neighbors, no friends, no money. She was at a genuine loss as to how she would be able to cope with two children to feed. Gohan could go out and work but his studies would suffer and she couldn't allow that. An education was the only guarantee he had to save him from a life of endless battles, like his father. The Western Capital offered him that chance.  
  
"I can't stay here," she muttered under her breath, taking a break from packing. Bulma had given her all of the maternity wear that she had worn while carrying Trunks. Aside from being a little tight in the chest, the skirts and dresses were a good fit and Chi Chi held one of the garments in her hands, reading the designer label. All of the Briefs were extraordinarily generous without asking for a single thing in return. She would be a fool to leave now and jeopardize the future of her soon-to-be- born child. "I want to stay but I can't take the risk that Vegeta will kill me- Us. The danger is just too great." As if to agree with her, the baby gave an urgent kick and Chi Chi nodded to herself and resumed packing.  
  
When she had first arrived at Capsule Corporation, she'd had one battered suitcase that held all of her meager belongings. She was leaving with three. At the very least, she might be able to make a few zeni selling some of the clothes at the local market. Staring at the luggage, she decided that she might as well start packing up Gohan's belongings while he was absent. The boy would only put up a hostile argument with her logic about leaving and probably refuse to pack. He was developing an independent streak that she definitely did not like and part of the problem was down in the living room with Bulma and her parents. The other was staying in a room at the end of the hall.  
  
As she left her bedroom, she decided to check in on Trunks one last time and say good-bye. She adored the child even though she actively tried to forget who had fathered him and thought that the boy would make a good playmate if she had a son. Perhaps a potential husband, if she was carrying a girl (Chi Chi was a woman who liked to plan things out well ahead of their time).  
  
The nightlight was on in the nursery and she tiptoed inside and stepped quietly around the crib. Her foot snagged on something and she stumbled forward, arms pin-wheeling for balance. She fell to one knee and protectively cradled her stomach, looking back at what had tripped her. Releasing a shocked gasp, her heart leapt into her throat when she realized that Vegeta was sitting up against the crib. Baby Trunks had one hand through the bars and was holding onto one of the spikes of his father's hair. Both of them were sound asleep.  
  
Frozen in shock, Chi Chi found herself staring at the vulnerable Saiyan. This was the second time that she had ever come face to face with the alien and, as before, she was perplexed by the differences in his appearance. At the hospital, he had been dressed in a soldier's uniform and she hadn't even recognized him at first. Right now, he looked nothing like the savage fighter that had been revealed in Baba's crystal ball so many years before. The short spikes of his hair revealed a face that was pale and haggard and plainly showing the efforts of his previous battle. One cheek was bruised and there was a shallow gash along his jawline. Both of his muscular arms were blistered and smeared with dried mud and cinders.  
  
Submerging a pang of sympathy, Chi Chi had to remind herself of who she was looking at: The murderer of Ivory City. A crazed killer who threatened all of their lives with his very presence. She remembered that she had left the knife on the dresser in her room.  
  
Just as she was slowly getting back to her feet to retrieve it, Vegeta's eyes snapped open and focused on her.  
  
  
  
Putting her burning face in her hands, Bulma barely felt her father rub her back as Yamcha's story came to a halting end. She had suspected that whatever had happened to Vegeta during his absence had to have been something bad but she never could have imagined how terribly tragic the tale was; He had been drugged, caged and operated on like some expendable lab animal. Even worse, he had been forced to confront his biggest personal demon remade in flesh: Frieza. According to the doctor that Yamcha had tracked down; the pair had a final showdown on a deserted island that resulted in Frieza being reduced to ashes and Vegeta having a stroke and slipping into a coma for twenty-two days.  
  
"Oh my God," Bulma choked, her slight form trembling with grief. Through her stunned mind she recalled the events at the hospital just after Vegeta had healed Trunks. 'No more poisons! No more prisons!' he had screamed. He had looked so sickly then and it hadn't hit home until just now when Yamcha told her the truth.  
  
Vegeta had been dying.  
  
"Why-why didn't he come here?" Mrs. Briefs asked in a bewildered way as she fought a losing battle with her own tears. "We would have helped him. Taken care of him. Why did he stay away if he knew he was-was..." She couldn't bring herself to say the words.  
  
"This is Vegeta we're talking about," Piccolo told her, his face sullen and grave. He had seen the bullet scars on Vegeta's back but hadn't figured that they were anything more than from a chance encounter against humans. He had been wrong- distressingly so. He now wondered if Vegeta had destroyed Ivory City in retaliation, acting out of something more than just blind violence. Perhaps in the depths of his memory loss there had been lingering rage and hatred from what had been done to him and he had reacted the only way that he knew how. "He would never have asked for help. And he certainly wouldn't have asked it from you."  
  
Bulma snapped her head up. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
"You're human," Piccolo responded bluntly. "Humans did this to him, with help from Frieza. Vegeta has never been a trusting person and now he has just cause to hate everything that this planet represents. At the hospital, he made his resentment clear. If anything, that hatred has only intensified."  
  
"But he accepted help from Trunks-" Gohan's words came to a sudden halt as his face registered his understanding.  
  
Piccolo nodded. "A half-alien baby that he fathered. Bulma, I don't think it's wise having Vegeta stay here in the Western Capital. Perhaps... perhaps, Chi Chi was right..."  
  
"NO!" Bulma snapped, rising to her feet. "Vegeta is staying here and that's final! Do you hear me? Chi Chi doesn't know what she's talking about and neither do you!"  
  
"Err, speaking of my mom," Gohan piped up. "Where is she?"  
  
  
  
With a distance of less than three feet separating them, Chi Chi and Vegeta regarded one another for one long, tension-filled moment. Finally, the Saiyan spoke first. "I know you."  
  
"We met at the hospital," she responded, finally managing to find her voice. "I'm Gohan's mother-"  
  
"-Kakarrot's mate."  
  
"I don't acknowledge that Saiyan name, murderer! My husband's name is Gokou. I want you to remember that."  
  
Vegeta's half-lidded eyes flashed anger for a split second but it was a fleeting sight, like a spark that couldn't quite catch. He closed his eyes for longer than a blink and opened them again with effort. "He's dead."  
  
"No thanks to you," Chi Chi said harshly.  
  
Vegeta opened his mouth to debate and then looked away, his heavy brows furrowing in thought. In that moment of indecision, Chi Chi debated running to her room to get the knife but she finally chose not to. Even through her grief and anger she could see something different in the brash alien.  
  
Grappling with his memories, Vegeta attempted to make some sense of the chaos. The events right up to his crushing defeat on earth, the first time he had appeared, were crystal clear; it was the rest of the memories to the present that were still a jumbled mess. Rubbing his temple briefly, he muttered; "Cell. He sacrificed himself just before Cell blew up."  
  
"It should have been you who died in the battle. Not him."  
  
Vegeta only gave a half-nod, not bothering to waste the energy for a debate. That action alone was enough to curb the rest of Chi Chi's animosity. It was a hateful statement and the Saiyan had simply agreed with it. She felt no victory over the moment, as she would have expected. In front of her Vegeta was wounded and defeated; it was all that she would have thought she wanted -next to her husband being returned to her. Quite unexpectedly, her quest for vengeance faded into the background and allowed her to behave rationally again. Without that usual spite motivating her, all that she could think of saying right now was the obvious: "You're hurt."  
  
"No shit."  
  
Chi Chi's lips twisted at the profanity. "There's no need to be coarse. I thought that you were a prince. I'm a princess myself, you know."  
  
"Hnh. Must be an earth thing. You just look like a common peasant whore to me," he responded, fixing her with a baleful glare.  
  
Betraying one stunned blink, Chi Chi screamed into his face: "How DARE you speak that way to me, you filthy Saiyan! I won't tolerate that kind of trash talking from anyone and certainly not from someone like you! Why, if my precious Gokou were here-"  
  
"Shut. The fuck. UP!" Vegeta yelled back, getting to his feet. He regarded her with absolute loathing and was about to close in when he glanced at her stomach and cocked his head to one side. Just as quickly he backed away, eyeing her warily like a desultory little tiger.  
  
He's reacting to my pregnancy, Chi Chi realized in amazement. He won't even come close to me, let alone hurt me. Is it because Gokou's the father? Or something else that I'm missing?  
  
Rudely awakened, Trunks sat up and took measure of the tension in the room. He started drawing in air for a wail of displeasure when Vegeta turned on him with an erect finger raised in warning. "Not now, boy," he cautioned.  
  
Remarkably, Trunks appeared to forget his initial irritation and began quietly playing with his toes.  
  
Chi Chi's eyes tracked from father to son and back again in disbelief at the scene. At a complete loss for words, it came as something of a relief when Bulma charged into the room followed by Gohan.  
  
Bulma glanced at Vegeta first and the pair matched eyes for a fleeting second before he looked away. Moving to the crib, she saw that Trunks was gurgling contentedly to himself, apparently unruffled by the display in his nursery and his acceptance helped to calm her. Whatever had happened in here, it was plain that it wasn't anything to get needlessly upset over if the baby showed no sign of distress. Trunks just seemed ecstatic that Vegeta was in the room. "Chi Chi, is everything all right in here?" she asked warily. It didn't take her genius brain to sort things out; two hot- tempered individuals had met and clashed, remarkably without bloodshed.  
  
Gohan stepped in beside his mother and helped her to her feet. Chi Chi's face was deeply flushed but the boy wasn't sure if it was fury or something else. "You okay, mom?"  
  
Glaring daggers at Vegeta, Chi Chi saw that he wasn't even staring at her, the entire incident apparently already dismissed. He was standing behind Bulma and staring at her back but there appeared to be no malice on his face. He glanced once at her hair and then dropped his eyes to the floor.  
  
"Everything's fine," Chi Chi managed to say at last, dusting herself off. She busied herself with fussing over her son. "I'm relieved to see that you're not hurt. But- Look how filthy you are! You are going to march right into a shower at once, young man."  
  
"Aww, mom..." the boy protested, following his mother out of the nursery.  
  
Left alone, Bulma turned to look at Vegeta. Trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice, she remarked lightly, "Looks like you could use a shower yourself, tough guy."  
  
Gripping the front of his tank top, Vegeta wrinkled his nose but made no comment.  
  
"And I'll get some bandages for your-"  
  
"Get away from me."  
  
Bulma had been moving towards him and now she faltered. "W-What?"  
  
"You've done quite enough. Keep your distance," he growled at her.  
  
Piccolo's cautions repeated themselves in Bulma's whirling mind. "I-I thought that we had cleared the air back at the hospital. I told you how sorry I was about deceiving you and what had happened to Trunks' tail-"  
  
Vegeta's face became a confused scowl. "What are you yapping on about? I'm just saying that I'll never forgive you for making me wear that stupid pink shirt!"  
  
Before her stunned eyes, he deliberately turned her back on her and stalked out of the room. The exchange left her with a dozen questions but by the time she had them sorted out, Vegeta was back in his room and this time the door was locked.  
  
"What am I going to do?" she finally asked Trunks.  
  
The baby rocked back and forth and flashed her a sly little grin that seemed to say: Don't you worry, momma. Just leave things to me.  
  
  
  
There were no nightmares and for that alone, he was grateful.  
  
When Vegeta woke up the next morning, the first thing that he noticed was the lack of throbbing agony between his temples. Constant headaches had been his unshakable companion for the last several months and he had grown so used to them that waking up in pain was commonplace. He sat up in bed and savored the peace and quiet for a moment and then looked around. It took a moment for the surroundings to register and then it dawned on him; Capsule Corporation. He was back in his room but everything looked barren, as if he hadn't been here in a while. The dresser's surface was empty and the closet had no clothes. There was a series of flashes that raced through his mind; a dingy, foul-smelling motel room, a dead soldier's apartment, a cell with transparent walls. He shook his head to try and make some sense of what his memories were trying to tell him but it was no use. Everything was a still a mess.  
  
"Damn you Frieza," he cursed under his breath. He could imagine the tyrant basking in glee over this situation. "You took away my people, my pride... Did you have to take away my mind, too?"  
  
There was no sense dwelling on the issue: What's done is done. He undressed and took a long, hot shower, standing under the spray and letting the water wash away sweat and grime and soothe his wounds. Afterwards, he stood in front of the mirror over the sink and wiped away the condensation, staring at his reflection. He ran a hand through his short hair spikes, grumbling at the sight, and then rummaged through the medicine cabinet for some bandages. The burns on his arms weren't that severe but needed to be kept clean. With a skill borne of tending to such injuries, he added the necessary dressings and wrapped the gauze tightly around either arm.  
  
When he was done, he returned to his room and frowned down at the ripped clothes lying on the bed. He finally recognized the style but couldn't remember mugging Mirai Trunks for them. This time, when he tried to force the memories to the surface, a headache started to rise with them. He gave up, put on the clothes and left the room.  
  
Following the scent of breakfast, it was Vegeta's stomach that dictated his direction and he went downstairs and walked into the dining room. Bulma, Trunks and her parents were there, as was Gohan and his mother. In the far corner, Piccolo was standing with his arms folded and looked up as he entered.  
  
Faltering, Vegeta was about to back out of the room when Mrs. Briefs exclaimed; "Oh, Vegeta! It's so good to have you up and about. How do you feel?"  
  
Before he managed an answer, she was already on her feet and pulling out the nearest chair. "I'll prepare a place setting for you right away. I imagine that you're famished-"  
  
"Hold it!" Chi Chi snapped, slapping her hands down on the table. "I agreed to cook for this household. That didn't include him!"  
  
"Chi Chi-" Bulma hissed.  
  
"I mean it, Bulma. I relented to stay but that doesn't mean that I'm going to be his personal chef."  
  
"'CHI!"  
  
"I can fend for myself," Vegeta said coarsely, walking towards the kitchen. "I don't need that harpy to feed me."  
  
"What? What did you call me?" she yelled after his retreating back. "Why I've have a mind to-" She had been in the process of rising to her feet until a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her gently, but firmly, down. "Leave him alone, mom," Gohan told her.  
  
"Don't you tell me what to do," she snapped. "You're still grounded for running away and stealing and-"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the boy chanted, shoveling a mouthful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. He hadn't slept very well last night, concerned about possible retaliation by Vegeta and had spent much of the night talking to Piccolo. He was glad to see that the Saiyan was back on his feet, apparently none the worse for wear from their recent battle and more concerned about nourishment then vengeance. For what seemed to be a very long time, the boy began to relax at last.  
  
"And that smart mouth that you've got is another thing-"  
  
"'Chi, would you please put a sock in it?" Bulma said as she spoon-fed Trunks his breakfast. "Can't we all just enjoy a nice, quiet breakfast for once?"  
  
As the brunette sat back with a perturbed huff, Vegeta returned from the kitchen carrying a loaf of bread and several cans. He sat down in the chair that Bulma's mother had pulled out and began making himself a sandwich. Chi Chi blanched in horror when she read the label on the can of tuna he held. "Is-is that... that..."  
  
"Cat food?" Dr. Briefs finished. His kitty was perched on his shoulder and gave an exited meow when Vegeta pulled open the lid and began spreading the contents on a slice of bread. Before everyone's stunned gaze, he emptied the can, added another slice and then began to eat his sandwich.  
  
"Oh- GROSS!" Gohan howled, leaving the table. This would be one morning where he would be going to school early.  
  
Both of Bulma's parents excused themselves and hastily left the dining room. Seated across from the Saiyan, Chi Chi tried to hold up her disapproving glare until Vegeta opened his mouth and deliberately showed her a half-chewed mouthful balanced on his tongue. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she quickly left the room barely hearing Piccolo remark; "I'm sure Vegeta will appreciate the leftovers."  
  
"-urk!" was all she could get out as she ran for the nearest bathroom.  
  
Chuckling to himself, Piccolo decided to make his own exit. It was clear that things were returning back to normal and his hanging around was unnecessary. He offered Bulma a casual nod and stepped out of the dining room.  
  
Bulma giggled as Vegeta put down the sandwich and began gathering the half- eaten plates around him. "Nicely done, Vegeta. Not many people manage to pull one over on Chi Chi. Come to think of it, I think you're the first."  
  
"Whoopee for me," he said and began eating. There might as well have been a sign around his neck that read: Hungry Saiyan- Do Not Disturb and Bulma busied herself with tending to Trunks. With his father in the room, the boy began demanding more with growing impatience and Bulma had a hard time keeping him supplied with food. With smug amusement, she realized that she was witnessing an eating contest between father and son.  
  
"Mhe winny!" Trunks yelled victoriously when Vegeta finally pushed the last plate away and sat back in his chair, obviously sated. The baby's cheeks were smeared with eggs and the front of his shirt was soaked in orange juice. He waved his arms up and down in excitement as Bulma tried to wipe his face clean.  
  
"That boy is a bottomless pit," Vegeta remarked.  
  
"Like father, like son," Bulma teased.  
  
He looked down at the table, nodding at the sight of the empty plates all around him. "Kakarrot's mate may be a bitch but she can sure cook."  
  
"We don't ask her to but she insists."  
  
"She lives here?"  
  
Bulma nodded. "Her and Gohan. She has no money and she's expecting another child. Offering her a place to stay is the least I could do."  
  
"You're as bad as your parents," he grumbled under his breath.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Taking in strays."  
  
"Including you?"  
  
"Particularly me," he murmured, crossing his arms and becoming lost in thought.  
  
"Vegeta, I-" Bulma faltered and tried again, "I'm really glad you're here."  
  
"Where else would I be? I have nowhere to go," he said in defeat.  
  
"That's not true," she said slowly, turning to look at him. "You have an apartment in Pitch waiting for you. If-if you want it, that is."  
  
"Pitch?" He blinked in confusion and started rubbing his left temple. He was visibly trying to concentrate and Bulma looked on with concern until he finally said, "That soldier. Tucker. I was living in his apartment."  
  
"Vegeta, are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
She recognized his defensive manner and knew that he didn't want to talk about his injuries, either physical or mental. She decided to let the issue rest for now. "I don't want you to think that you have to stay here if you don't want to. I'd like nothing more then to have you around, if only for Trunks' sake, but I'm not going to force you."  
  
The pair stared at one another as he visibly considered an answer. Trying to keep her emotions at bay, Bulma maintained an indifferent front but inside, she was screaming for him not to leave. She actually closed her eyes when he started with, "That apartment-"  
  
"-I understand-"  
  
"-I don't want it," he finished. "I'm content to stay here if that's acceptable to... your parents."  
  
"I think they'd like that very much," she said with true relief, her knees wobbling underneath of her.  
  
Vegeta heard the tremor in her voice and frowned thoughtfully at her but he had other concerns. "What happened to the clothes in my room?"  
  
"That's right! Thanks for reminding me," Bulma said, rummaging in her pants pocket for the capsule she had retrieved from that seedy hotel in the city of Prescott. "I was going to give this back to you when you woke up."  
  
"Why did you encapsulate everything in the first place?" he asked irritably, eyeing the capsule she handed him.  
  
"Vegeta, you had-" Bulma's words tumbled to a halt at the blank stare he gave her. "I... didn't want everything to smell musty," she answered instead.  
  
He accepted the explanation and left the dining room to get his belongings sorted out. Remaining behind, Bulma stared at the doorway and chewed nervously on her bottom lip. She had thought that Trunks' enigmatic intervention and a following good night's sleep would have cured any lingering after-affects of Frieza's poison. It was becoming painfully clear that wasn't the case.  
  
  
  
Over the course of the next two weeks, things started to fall into a sense of normalcy in the Headquarters building. Vegeta and Chi Chi deliberately avoided one another except during meals. After his display over breakfast, she consented to include him in her expert cooking. During mealtimes, the odd verbal skirmish broke out as both volatile individuals tried to get in the last word over the silliest of topics. It often ended when the rest of the family would start laughing and the pair settled into their meals, sulking and glaring at one another like a pair of spoiled children.  
  
Gohan was just as happy as Trunks to have the Saiyan living at Capsule Corporation. On several occasions, the pair sparred in the courtyard but they were careful not to get carried away with the sprit of combat. Neither powered up and Vegeta rarely lost his temper, not even when the youth managed to find a weakness in his defenses and land a successful blow. Each tourney ended in a mutual draw but Gohan got the impression that Vegeta's heart wasn't in the fighting. He just seemed to be going through the motions of battle, his mind lost to other concerns the boy wasn't privy to. Gohan tried to draw him out but the terse responses he got for his efforts was about the only thing that was predictable. With that in mind, he shelved his worry and just let himself be grateful for Vegeta's presence.  
  
Mrs. Briefs was the only person to see a different side of the Saiyan that the others missed. Slipping downstairs for a late night snack, she once caught Vegeta sitting in the living room. The television was the only source of light, the volume turned down low and she could plainly see he was bent over in the chair, holding his head.  
  
"Vegeta? Are you all right, dear?"  
  
"Leave me alone," he rasped out, sparing her a glance. The act of marginally turning his head seemed to be too much of an effort and he went back to suffering in silence.  
  
Utterly perplexed, Mrs. Briefs returned to her room, intent on bringing the incident to Bulma's attention the next morning. When she woke up, however, she dismissed the exchange as a dream and promptly forgot about it.  
  
Bulma didn't need her mother to tell her that something was wrong with Vegeta. He had returned to his usual routine of jogging in the morning and spending the remainder of the day in the gravity simulator. Reading the printouts that were sent directly to her office computer, Bulma knew that he was training at less than one-third of the gravity level he'd achieved before he left. The sessions were scattered around periodic breaks and he wasn't using the robotic training drones he had designed. He would never admit it but it was obvious that his prolonged absence had left him out of shape.  
  
She clicked on the icon to the security camera that was trained on the simulator and saw that the hatch was now open. Vegeta was sitting on the platform clad in his usual apparel of spandex shorts and sneakers, rubbing his shoulder with a grimace. Bulma decided that now was as good a time as ever to go talk to him.  
  
Vegeta tried to will his heart rate to slow down as he struggled to catch his breath. He reached for his towel, submerging a moan at the rebelling pain in his left shoulder, and wiped the sweat from his face. One hundred times earth's gravity should have been as natural to him as flying but damned if trying to do push-ups in that environment didn't make all of the muscles in his body feel as if they were about to burst. He was debating on calling it a day when Bulma stepped out of the building, carrying a bottle of water and started walking towards him.  
  
He wanted to retreat back into the Capsule but couldn't will his legs to start moving. A victim of his own over-achievement, he remained trapped where he was, tensioning up as the woman came along side of him.  
  
"Thirsty?" She offered him the bottle.  
  
Hesitating for only a second, he took the container and drank the cool contents with relish. When he was done, he stared down at the bottle in his hand for a long while.  
  
"Vegeta?" she prompted.  
  
"This bottle," he said in an odd voice. "I had heatstroke and you gave me water from a container just like this one, didn't you?"  
  
Bulma's heart ached at the doubt she heard in his voice. "Vegeta, how much do you remember of your time on earth?"  
  
"Enough," he parried, immediately on the defensive.  
  
"And us? How much do you remember about... what we went through?"  
  
He only stared at her, frowning in confusion.  
  
"The Hammorski Plaza? Dorothy Pereaux? Your suffering from the V'Nhar? You don't remember any of it?"  
  
"Is there any need to?" he shot back. "From the sounds of things I don't think I'm missing much. What's the big deal?"  
  
"The big deal is US!" Bulma wailed. "We were together. We fell in love and now you're telling me that you've forgotten all of that?"  
  
"I think you've got me confused with somebody else," he responded coldly. "I don't feel anything for you. I doubt I ever did."  
  
His words were like a slap across the face. Bulma stared back at him in complete disbelief, her bottom lip trembling as she fought to maintain her composure. When she was positive that she wouldn't burst into tears, she said in a level voice, "You've forgotten so much. It's not fair to get into an argument with you if you can't remember the facts. I'm telling you that it DID happen. Whether you choose to face those memories is completely up to you."  
  
"What the hell-?" Vegeta watched her retrieve the bottle and start to turn away and he jumped off the platform to grab her arm. "Just one damned minute! Are you implying that I'm trying to forget all of this on purpose?"  
  
"It would make things easy for you, wouldn't it?" she shouted back. "You can start off with a clean slate. No commitments, no regrets. I have to wonder if Frieza's poison really is to blame or if you're doing this deliberately!"  
  
"You BITCH!" He raised his fist, intent on demolishing her face and Bulma's expression transformed into sheer terror with the understanding that she had gone too far.  
  
Just before the terrible blow fell, the surroundings around Vegeta warped and he suddenly found himself in a bed, cradling a woman by his side. He was assuring her that-that-  
  
You'll never be hurt by my hand, Bulma.  
  
"!!SHIT!!" At the last second he whirled and plowed his fist into the side of the gravity simulator, burrowing his arm into the reinforced metal up to the elbow. He leaned heavily against the capsule, willing his temper to get back under control and trying not to betray just how badly shaken he was. So close. He had been so close. He had almost killed her!  
  
"Oh God, Vegeta! I'm so sorry!" She was starting to cry now. "I was just angry. I had no right to say those terrible things. I know they're not true."  
  
He pulled his arm free with a squeal of rebelling metal and she saw that his hand was bleeding profusely. The sight of it made her cry even harder. "I'll take you to the infirmary. I-I'll get you a-"  
  
"Leave me the hell alone," he snarled, baring his teeth at her. Fixing her with one withering glare, he left to go visit the Capsule Corp. infirmary.  
  
Bulma wanted to give chase but her legs were rubbery from the near miss and she sat down in the grass before she fell. Great, racking sobs enveloped her slight form and she surrendered to them, drawing herself into a helpless, little ball. The majority of emotion was lingering stress from the events of the last few months and the rest, her own helplessness with what to do for Vegeta. By denying their past relationship, he had hurt her and she, without thinking, had deliberately hurt him back. How could she ever win his trust now?  
  
When the torrent passed, Bulma realized that some clues about Vegeta might be revealed at his apartment in Pitch. She would gain some insight into how he had lived, what he had done to pass the time, and perhaps find some much- needed common ground if she was going to begin the task of rebuilding their friendship. Vegeta had said that he wanted nothing to do with the place. At the very least, she could sort out the belongings he needed and encapsulate the rest for goodwill.  
  
Her face once more burning with purpose, she told her mother of her intentions and left the Western Capital in her hoverjet, traveling northeast to the city of Pitch. She was unprepared for all of the snow she encountered and had to remind herself that it was late November. She wished that she had put on something warmer then a miniskirt, heels and a short- sleeved sweater.  
  
Landing on the roof of the apartment building, Bulma stood in the knee-deep snow and encapsulated the hoverjet. Making her awkward way towards the stair access, she found the door locked and had to sort through her purse with rapidly numbing fingers for the right gadget. She pulled out an automatic lock-picker and had the door open in less then ten seconds and descended the stairwell, shivering so badly that her teeth were clacking together.  
  
She went to the forth floor and stepped up to the door of Vegeta's apartment, 403. It felt odd to be standing here, let alone letting herself in but she was freezing and quickly used her lock-pick to get inside. The warmth of the apartment enfolded her and she leaned against the door gratefully, feeling the blood return to her extremities.  
  
When she was sufficiently warmer, she looked around in amazement. It certainly wasn't hard to tell that someone else had chosen the furnishings and décor; none of it was Vegeta's barren sense of style. The neatness of the apartment, however, was. Everything was in its place, nothing was disturbed. There were a few empty beer cans on the counter and a glass in the sink. Curiously, Bulma looked in the fridge and saw several cartons of eggs and tomato juice cans. The freezer was crammed full of meat. When she opened one of the cupboard doors, she saw something that made her heart stutter.  
  
Catfood cans.  
  
All along she had thought that Vegeta had pulled his little gross-out act to make everyone run from the table and leave him the leftovers. She didn't realize that he had actually been living off of the damned stuff! The tears were dangerously close again and she had to swallow them back. Vegeta hadn't chosen to eat it because he was lacking for money; it was obvious that he had simply developed a fondness for the taste.  
  
"Eww," she said with a shiver.  
  
She was impressed with the entertainment system, so much that she intended to bring it back with her for use in their own home; to hell with goodwill. The DVD movie collection was enormous and it was clear that Vegeta had been working his way through them, judging by where the layers of dust stopped. She made a curious discovery resting in the corner of the living room by the far wall; The entire Star Wars collection was there as well as Independence Day, several Star Trek movies and The Matrix, among others- all obviously discarded. It was painfully clear that anything resembling science fiction only irritated the Saiyan who knew the real thing first- hand. Bulma went to the DVD player and opened the slot, wondering what he had been watching last and she burst out laughing when she read the title.  
  
The Sound of Music.  
  
"I'll be damned!" She was laughing so hard she had to sit on the arm of the couch. All of these little revelations were providing more insight into Vegeta then she could have dared hope.  
  
In the spare bedroom she took note of all of the weight equipment without much surprise and moved on to the bathroom. This area was a little more cluttered then the rest of the apartment and the bathmat was still on the floor. Bulma wondered if he had been interrupted from a shower to go help her when she had confronted Doctor Reznik. What a disastrous turn of events that had led to.  
  
Her previous good humor deserting her, she turned to leave and cast a glance at the waste can under the sink. She backtracked and pulled out an empty bottle of extremely strong painkillers. They had been prescribed to Tucker but it was obvious that Vegeta had finished them, which was unusual. He would never have resorted to using any drugs unless he had been...  
  
"Suffering," she whispered. Along with the bottle, the garbage can was half full of wadded up Kleenex tissues, all bloody. There were more flecks of blood on the counter beside the sink. "He was in agony and he was dying all alone."  
  
The tears were back and she wept quietly this time, more then ever regretting her words she had spoken outside of the simulator. Why wouldn't he want to forget all of this? she asked herself. What would be the benefit of reliving this nightmare over again?  
  
There was no straightforward answer. As much insight as she gained, Bulma knew that she would never be able to fathom what Vegeta had endured these last few months. She could only understand his reason for not seeking out any help. He had been probably worried that his suffering would only be prolonged by some well-intentioned interference. If he hadn't come to her rescue at the airport, he would have died here: His body found by strangers and quietly disposed of without her learning of his fate.  
  
Bulma suddenly wished that she had never come here. Her arms were crawling with gooseflesh, as if the place was haunted and she tried desperately to keep the morose thoughts at bay without much luck. Walking into the bedroom, she resolved to pack a few of Vegeta's things and then get the hell out. She'd come back later with some company.  
  
As she crossed the room to get at the dresser, her eyes fell on a manila envelope resting on the bed. She walked over and picked it up, almost dropping it again when she saw what was written on its surface.  
  
It was addressed to her.  
  
  
  
Vegeta's little tantrum left him with two broken knuckles and a gash in the back of his hand that required seven stitches. He let the nurse on duty patch him up but he was uncomfortable in the sterile confines of the company infirmary and was eager to get out of there. Sensing his agitation, the nurse moved as fast as humanly possible and had barely finished bandaging his hand when he jumped from the examining table and left at a pace that was nearly a sprint. He didn't trust nurses and he abhorred anything that even remotely resembled a hospital. He hadn't even let the woman give him a needle for the pain. That, at least, was something he could handle with ease. Pain defined his very existence. It was all of this trust and friendship and love bullshit everyone was trying to force on him that he couldn't deal with.  
  
I have to wonder if Frieza's poison really is to blame or if you're doing this deliberately! the woman had accused, making his muscles tighten in anger. Not a day went by that he wasn't mourning what he had lost and she actually thought that he was doing this on purpose?  
  
Too many questions... too many doubts. He didn't like constantly second- guessing himself with every move he made, wondering if it was the right one. He needed answers. Damn it- He needed to remember!  
  
At a loss, he got changed in his room and stared longingly at the bed, wondering if he should take a nap. His hand was throbbing and he chose to abandon the idea until he got a few beers into his system. He left his quarters and wandered down the hall, lost in thought and troubled. Bulma's words plagued him, transforming the anger he felt into more self-doubt.  
  
His roaming brought him to the nursery where he could hear Trunks starting to cry and he peered cautiously around the side of the door, wondering if Kakarrot's shrew wife was anywhere nearby. It wasn't as if he feared her; she was just a person that he desperately wanted to avoid at all costs. The coast looked clear and he went into the room and closed the door.  
  
He walked over to the crib and rested his arms on the edge, peering down at his son without expression. "I'm not surprised you get so pissed off, being trapped in this little cage and all." Trunks gave a delighted squeal in reaction and Vegeta picked the boy up by the back of his pj's and gave him a light shake before setting him back down. "Quiet, brat."  
  
Unruffled, Trunks crawled over to him and stood up on shaky legs, holding onto the bars for support as he gibbered non-stop to his father in intelligible baby talk. Listening to this nonsense for about five minutes, Vegeta shook his head in annoyance and held up one hand. "Not now, boy. Time is short. I need something from you."  
  
His blue eyes huge in his chubby face, Trunks stared at his father with rapt attention. Vegeta saw so much of Bulma in those innocent eyes that he was at a momentary loss for words. He knew that the child had an immense psychic gift that was capable of easing his suffering; the lingering after- affects of Frieza's poison. The pair had a powerful bond that not even distance could weaken. Right now, Vegeta was wondering if there was a third person added to that exclusive bond.  
  
"How much of your mother's mind have you touched?" he muttered out loud, staring at the boy. "My memories are fragmented but hers are crystal clear. How much do you know?"  
  
Trunks cocked his head to one side, as if considering the question. "Buhma- mah ta Vehta. Yah!" he exclaimed and held up his arms towards his father.  
  
Nervous for no reason that he could explain, Vegeta reached down and enfolded the baby's tiny hands in his own.  
  
"Show me," he said, closing his eyes.  
  
  
  
--------------------------------------------------------  
  
Chapter Sixteen: Saiyan courtship. It's a beautiful thing. 


	16. Sihskar

Two Sides To A Story Chapter Sixteen  
  
**CAUTION!** THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT WITH MATURE SITUATIONS. If you are underage or sensitive to this type of material then do NOT read it. *****************************************************  
  
It was very late when Bulma returned to Capsule Corporation. Clutched to her chest for the entire trip was the manila envelope that she had found on Vegeta's bed. When she had examined the contents she hadn't been in any shape to pilot the hoverjet and spent the next several hours encapsulating the contents of the apartment, her thoughts stunned and amazed. It was all right there drawn on sheets of paper: The only way that he could tell Bulma how much he cared for her, communicated in the only method that he knew she would understand.  
  
Landing in the courtyard, she ran into the Headquarters building intent on rushing into Vegeta's room. During the voyage home she had rehearsed a speech over and over, one that would forgive all past transgressions and settle their feud once and for all. She was going to apologize, ask for his forgiveness, and go to his bed; intent on letting her body complete the task her words would start.  
  
She knew something was wrong when she entered the living room and saw that all of the lights were still on. Her father was sitting in his bathrobe and slippers watching the news on television. When he noticed her, his face broke out into a relieved smile. "I was starting to get worried, it's getting so late-"  
  
"Is everything alright?" Bulma asked quickly. "Trunks-?"  
  
"Oh, he's just fine. Sleeping like an angel."  
  
"And Vegeta-?"  
  
This time an answer wasn't so quick. Just as she turned to the staircase, her father told her. "He's not there, Bulma."  
  
She brought her fist down in frustration and was about to start screaming when Dr. Briefs quickly added, "He just stepped out for the evening saying that he needed to get some fresh air."  
  
The tension immediately left her shoulders. "Were you waiting up for me or for him?" she asked with a knowing smile.  
  
Her father offered her a guilty shrug. "For the police, actually. He wasn't in a very good mood when he left."  
  
"And that's a surprise?" Bulma saw the worry etched in her father's wrinkled face and knew a way to take his mind off of his concern. "Dad, I found this at Vegeta's apartment. I want you to look at it."  
  
Hesitantly, he took the envelope from her and pulled out one of the sheets of paper. He took one look at what was drawn on it and collapsed backwards into his chair. The expression on his face was like a child who had unwrapped his desired gift on Christmas day. "How... how many...?" He couldn't form the words to finish the sentence.  
  
Smiling knowingly, Bulma told him, "Seven, with one more that's incomplete."  
  
"Dear, sweet god," Dr. Briefs whispered. Like his daughter before him, he hugged the envelope to his scrawny chest and didn't want to let it go.  
  
  
  
"I've noticed you looking at me," Ms. Kipfer said in a soft, husky voice.  
  
Gohan snapped his head up from his schoolwork and stared at his homeroom teacher with an expression of pure terror. "You have?! I-I'm sorry, ma'am, I-I didn't mean...I-"  
  
"Shh, it's alright. I've been looking at you, too," she said, rising from behind her desk and walking towards him. She was wearing one of her trademark tight skirts, and before the boy's eyes she began unbuttoning her blouse.  
  
Looking around quickly, Gohan saw that all of the other seats in his class were empty. Swallowing nervously, he turned back and found the woman sitting on his desk. Her shirt was open exposing a black lace bra that barely managed to contain her ample bosom. "You can touch them, if you'd like."  
  
"Ohh, I'd like," the boy moaned, caressing the sheer fabric with a trembling hand. "Ms. Kipfer, I have this dream about you all the time."  
  
"I know, Gohan."  
  
"And-and I know it's wrong but-but-"  
  
"Gohan."  
  
"-I'd... I'd really like to-to kiss you-"  
  
"GOHAN!"  
  
Jerking awake, Gohan rolled over and saw Bulma kneeling beside his bed. Her face was only inches from his own and he recoiled in shock. "Bulma! What the heck-?"  
  
She turned on the bedside lamp. "I'm sorry, Gohan. I know it's late but I really need your help."  
  
"Why? What's wrong?" the boy asked with a marked lack of enthusiasm. He was gathering handfuls of his blanket to cover the source of his discomfort, which only seemed to be getting harder as it registered an actual flesh-and- blood woman in close proximity. He had never noticed how attractive Bulma was as the light played off of the angles of her face. Unconsciously, his eyes slipped down to search for a hint of cleavage.  
  
Vegeta would skin me alive if he knew what I was thinking, Gohan realized and with that thought, the fear helped to lessen his discomfiture.  
  
"I need you to help me find Vegeta," Bulma said, oblivious of the boy's predicament. "It's late and he hasn't come home yet. I want to make sure that he's alright."  
  
Gohan, eager to return to his erotic dream, wanted to reassure her by saying that this was Vegeta she was talking about: A powerful alien who had been on his own practically since he had been a boy. Recent events swayed the logic and he began reading the fear behind Bulma's words. Humans had captured him once and look what happened. Despite fervent assurances to the contrary, he knew that the Saiyan hadn't completely recovered from his ordeals. "I'll get dressed right away," he said, all thoughts of Ms. Kipfer finally forgotten.  
  
Barely ten minutes later, the pair was soaring over the Western Capital. There was a distant thunderstorm over the ocean, its lightening spearing down to the black waters. The view was breathtaking but Bulma kept her comments to herself as Gohan reached out with his ki to detect the elusive Saiyan. "He is in the city, Bulma," he announced at last. "He's not powered up or anything. I think he's okay."  
  
"Can you home in on him? I want to see for myself."  
  
"Sure."  
  
The boy took them to the Capital's lower west side which was about as poor as the affluent city got. There was a slight difference in the condition of the buildings and townhouses but there didn't appear to be any obvious illegal activities going on. The area just seemed to have a knack for attracting a distinctly less credible clientele. Gohan and Bulma landed outside of a bar and glanced at one another in disbelief before looking at the building. Loud, riotous music was blaring from the open doors and parked in front were several motorcycles.  
  
"I must be wrong. Vegeta wouldn't go in there," Gohan said.  
  
A body was thrown through the window in a spray of glass. The music paused and there was a barrage of cruel laughter before the heavy metal beat started up again, louder than ever. The biker on the sidewalk released a groan and staggered to his feet, brushing off shards of glass. Once he collected his bearings, he went back inside.  
  
"You weren't wrong," Bulma said with a sigh.  
  
Gohan wanted to accompany her but she knew he wouldn't be allowed in the bar. He relented to sitting on a roof across the street and keep a close eye on the place just in case she got into trouble. Bulma tried to tell him that she was used to being on her own and had been getting into adventures long before he had ever been born. It was odd, really. She had let Gokou tag along as her bodyguard then, and here was his son doing the same thing eighteen years later. It made her feel comforted but it also made her feel old.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she walked inside and was immediately aware of the stares that she received from the surly patrons. A gang of bikers sitting near the window had been arguing with the one who had been thrown out until they noticed her. A woman wearing a dark purple leather coat glared at her with acidic hatred as the wolf whistles started.  
  
Keeping her head high, Bulma walked to the bar and waved over the bartender. Yelling above the music, she said, "I'm looking for a friend. My height, short spiky hair. Have you seen him?"  
  
The man, nearly deaf by years of bad music, could only shake his head in irritation. He went back to drawing beers for several men at the bar. They were all talking about her, their words as clear as the leers on their faces and Bulma wasn't looking forward to having to walk deeper into this pit of testosterone. She realized she had no choice and pushed herself away from the bar to begin her search.  
  
A hand closed around her upper arm and pulled her roughly back. "Hey, baby. Let me buy you a drink," drawled a younger man dressed in a denim coat and tight jeans. There was a bandaide over his left eyebrow and when he smiled, it exposed gaps where teeth had been knocked out in past brawls.  
  
"I'll pass," she said aloofly, trying to pull her arm free.  
  
"Ah c'mon, one little beer," he said, exhaling in her face. His breath stank of stale beer and whiskey. "It won't hurt'cha any to sit a spell, would it?"  
  
"Let me go," she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "You're hurting me."  
  
The false benevolence went out of the drunk's face. "You think you're too good to drink with me? You uptight, cock-teasing little bit-"  
  
A hand grabbed him by the back of the head and propelled his face down into the hard surface of the bar. There was the sound of bone breaking and the drunk released a howl of pain and released his hold on Bulma's arm to cup his now-broken nose. Kneeling on the opposite stool, Vegeta took a handful of the man's greasy hair and threw him effortlessly backwards where the drunk collided with the far wall and slid to the floor. Several people had to dive out of the way but no one came to his defense. Not one single person. They eyed Vegeta warily and went about their own business, avoiding him like the plague.  
  
"Vegeta-"  
  
"Refill," Vegeta interrupted her, turning to the bartender.  
  
"Same thing?" the man asked him.  
  
"No. Something stronger."  
  
Looking nervous, the older man regarded all of the bottles behind the counter and finally made a selection. "Try this," he said, picking up a shot glass and filling it, sliding it over.  
  
Up-ending the glass without hesitation, Vegeta swallowed the contents and appeared to consider the taste for a few seconds before he nodded. "It'll do," he said shortly, slapping a handful of crumpled zeni bills on the counter. He grabbed the bottle and left the bar without a word or look to Bulma.  
  
"Damn, that was Tequila and he never even flinched," the bartender muttered.  
  
"How much has he had so far?" Bulma asked.  
  
"You wouldn't believe it, lady-"  
  
"I'm asking you a question!"  
  
"That's his forth bottle," the man admitted. "The first was rum, the second was vodka and after that he tried scotch. I'd cut him off but until now, he was quiet and minded his own business. Barry deserved what he got, though, so I won't fault him for what just happened. Still, any normal person would be out cold by now."  
  
"He isn't any normal person," Bulma muttered and walked further into the bar without quarrel. Word had already spread of Barry's fate and everyone left her alone. She found Vegeta sitting in one dark corner, as far away from the music and commotion as possible. He was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on a small table, drinking out of the bottle and watching the television that was bolted to the nearby wall.  
  
Pulling over a free chair, Bulma sat down beside him and was about to start talking when he spoke up first, "I don't want to hear any shit from you tonight."  
  
"I just want to talk."  
  
"I don't. I just want to be left alone."  
  
"If I have a drink with you, will you let me stay?" Bulma asked.  
  
He regarded her for one long moment, his dark eyes narrowing into slits obviously trying to figure out what her intensions were. "Get your own," he relented, turning back to the muted TV.  
  
The pair sat in tense silence as each nursed their own beverage. Bulma bought a weak gin and tonic but she had no interest in it and only took bird-like sips as she kept a sharp eye on the person beside her. Vegeta appeared to forget she was even there as he finished off the bottle and kept his eyes glued to the television. It was broadcasting a wrestling match between Mr. Satan and some other fighter and the pair was doing more prancing in the ring then anything else. During the mock battle, Vegeta shook his head and got to his feet and left without a word to go to the bathroom.  
  
The bartender noticed his absence and hurried over. "It's almost two o'clock, miss. I gotta start closing up."  
  
Glancing at her watch, Bulma could hardly believe how quick the time had passed. She could sense that Vegeta wasn't willing to leave just yet and began rummaging in her purse. "How much will you take to extend the hours a bit?"  
  
"You don't have enough money-" the bartender's eyes bulged when she pulled out her wallet and began counting out hundred-zeni bills. "Will a thousand be enough for another hour?" she asked, offering him the money.  
  
"Lady, I'll stay open 'til dawn if you're footing the bill. I'll even-"  
  
Vegeta stepped out of the men's room and zeroed in on him. "Refill!" he barked and the man rushed off to find him another beverage. He came back with whiskey and Vegeta paid him with the last bit of cash that he had. He started counting his change when he sat back down at the table, squinting at the quarters in his hand and wondering if he had enough for another bottle.  
  
"I really think you've had enough," Bulma suggested.  
  
"Opinion noted and ignored," he shot back, pocketing the change. Obviously, he was going to have to make this bottle last. It was the only money he'd had when he had first tried to leave the Capital and now he was completely broke. He thought about the bitter irony of it; the Prince reduced to a pauper. Without warning, he threw his head back and laughed out loud almost making Bulma spill her drink.  
  
"Vegeta?" she asked warily.  
  
"Nothing," he said when the laughter had tapered off to the odd snicker. He took a long draught from the bottle and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket.  
  
She noticed the bandage on his right hand and felt acute remorse about their stupid argument outside of the simulator. "I want to tell you how sorry I am for saying-"  
  
"-I miss him," Vegeta cut in.  
  
She faltered. "Who? Do you mean G-"  
  
"Nappa," he said sadly. His face had lost its toughness and when he glanced at her, his strange eyes were dark and distant. "I killed him like he was nothing to me. How could I do that?"  
  
"Nappa was awful! He killed Yamcha and Tien and-"  
  
"You weren't even there!" Vegeta shouted at her. "I knew him as far back as I can remember. Him and Radditz both! We were the only Saiyans left and we traveled together for over twenty years. How the hell could you understand what it was like for us?" He flashed her a glare that told her she didn't dare make another comment and gulped down some more whiskey. "Kakarrot killed his own brother, I slaughtered the only friend I ever knew. What a fucked-up race," he grumbled.  
  
Bulma was beginning to get more than a little worried by the mood swings he was exhibiting. "We really should get going-"  
  
She was interrupted by a sudden chuckle and then Vegeta flashed her a lopsided smile. "I remember this one time when Nappa, Radditz and I went on shore leave and went into this tavern off base. We drank the place dry. Radditz started coming up with limericks that had us in stitches. What was that one about Frieza? Oh yeah...  
  
'Lord Frieza was this purple prick, Who had a tail but lacked a dick. He had thick lips, And girly hips, And an ass that Zarbon like to lick.'"  
  
He slapped his hand down on the table and started laughing again but it quickly tapered off. The humor left his face when he looked at Bulma and confessed in a softer voice, "Of course, Frieza did have a dick. A pale, skinny thing that had a retractable barb on the end that he liked to use to rip and tear and-and-"  
  
She reached for his hand but at the mere contact he recoiled and fell off of his chair. It finally dawned on her that Vegeta was drunk, very much so. Just because he didn't stumble or slur his words didn't make the reality any less. She knelt down beside him and was going to try and help him up when he said bleakly; "Nappa and Radditz are dead. The Androids are neutralized. Cell is destroyed. Kakarott is ashes. There's nothing left for me here."  
  
"You have a family that needs you," she assured him.  
  
He dropped his head and said nothing.  
  
"Let's go home, Vegeta."  
  
"I haven't had a home for almost thirty years," he told her. "Capsule Corp. is your home, I have no claim to it. Why should I bother going back? So that I can wait around for the next time we fight and have you tell me to leave?"  
  
"We're always going to fight. The both of us are hot-tempered and strong-willed. We're an even match. That's why I love you."  
  
He looked at her with obvious doubt. "Still?"  
  
"I've never stopped," she confessed. "I was livid with you for leaving me. I should have realized that I didn't have all of the facts. I didn't know you had come to the hospital and saw Trucks without his tail. I should have known that there was more to your avoiding me than just wounded pride."  
  
Nodding slowly to himself, Vegeta became lost in thought. When the silence stretched on, Bulma gently inquired, "What are you thinking about?"  
  
When she didn't think she was going to get an answer, he finally spoke up. "I'm just wondering if you and the boy aren't better off with me out of the picture," he told her honestly. "I don't know anything about how to help raise a family."  
  
"You're the only person left in the galaxy who knows what to expect from Trunks as he gets older. I haven't got a clue."  
  
"You should have thought of that before you got knocked-up on purpose!" he snapped at her.  
  
Unruffled, Bulma gave him a direct look and said evenly, "You are the last pure-blooded Saiyan alive. It would have been a tragedy to lose you to the Androids so I made the only decision that I thought made sense at the time. I wanted to have a piece of you all to myself." He recoiled a little at that and eyed her warily. She continued, "Having Trunks was the most wonderful, precious gift that you could have ever given me. But I knew it wouldn't be a present you would ever give willingly."  
  
"You lied to me," he hissed.  
  
"I had to."  
  
He backed off a little at the resolve in her voice and, taking advantage of his indecision, she decided to drive the point home. "It's time we finally put this matter to rest once and for all, Vegeta. Can you understand why I did it? Have you figured out why I wanted to have your child? I didn't do it just for me. I did it for the both of us."  
  
He knew that Bulma was wearing him down with her damnable logic but he was helpless to come up with any kind of an indignant defense in his present state. In the back of his mind, in an area not numbed by the alcohol, rose his voice; a grim reminder of a destiny yet unfulfilled. Eight years from now. Maybe ten. I'm going to die again anyway, aren't I?  
  
The tension went out of his shoulders and they sagged in defeat. "I suppose I should be pleased to have an heir. Perhaps... perhaps the line of Vegeta isn't completely lost after all," he confessed in a low voice.  
  
"I'm relieved to hear you finally accept him."  
  
"Things have changed from before. The boy has saved me. I owe him my life and sanity and..." he hesitantly raised his troubled eyes to hers, "He's helped me to remember what we shared together."  
  
Bulma sucked in breath. "H-how-?"  
  
"He has a rapport with you. After our fight, I went to him and searched for a copy of your memories. He didn't comprehend the meaning of the pictures that he showed me so the images were garbled but it was enough to see that you spoke the truth." He rubbed his temple in a gesture that was becoming much too familiar. "I had enough trouble sorting things out before and now I have your perspectives rattling around inside my brain. I needed some silence in my head-"  
  
"-So you came here," she realized. "Are you in any pain?"  
  
"Not now," came the answer but he let it hang in the air. Come morning he was going to be completely incapacitated; a combination of hangover and mental trauma. He began reaching for the bottle on the table but she gently took his hand and enfolded it in her own. "We'll find a way to fix this. You're not alone any more," she assured him, touching his face. He didn't avoid the contact but was unable to look at her, practically radiating his shame and doubt.  
  
Bulma stood up and pulled on his arm and he obediently got to his feet, looking around like a man waking up out of a dream. "Where'd everybody go?"  
  
"The bar closed awhile ago. It's time to leave," she said, offering a wave to the bartender as they walked past. "Thanks for staying open for us."  
  
"Lady, your money is welcome here anytime," he said cheerfully.  
  
"Money. Hnh. Must be nice," Vegeta mumbled under his breath.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
They stepped outside and Bulma saw that the storm she had seen out over the water had moved in over the Capital. Huge, threatening clouds glowed with shutter flashes of lightening and she flinched when a bass rumble of thunder made the ground shake. "We'd better hurry back before it starts raining," she commented, flinching as a spear of lightening flashed directly their heads. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned and saw Gohan waving at her from the rooftop of the building across the street. She had forgotten all about him and, guiltily, flashed the peace sign that all was well. He nodded his understanding and flew back to Capsule Corporation.  
  
Oblivious of the exchange, Vegeta was watching the play of lightening in the storm clouds with an odd, dreamy expression on his usually guarded face. "I don't want to go back just yet."  
  
"Well, we can't stay here," Bulma fretted, staring at him in exasperation. She was discovering that there were worse things than dealing with a stubborn-as-hell Saiyan, and that was trying to reason with a drunken one. "Nothing else is open this late. Not even the bars where there's dancing, not that I could drag you onto a dance floor."  
  
"Saiyans don't dance on a floor," he said, pulling his eyes away from the thunderclouds and smiling at her in a way that immediately put her on guard. Before she could react, he swept her in his arms and took to the air with dizzying speed.  
  
"Vegeta, what are you doing?!" she howled.  
  
He started grinning but there was no malice on his face. All at once he appeared very young and very excited. "I'm going to show you how Saiyans dance."  
  
Her screams were drowned out by the thunder as he plowed into the mantle of the heavy clouds that enfolded them in thick, churning mist. Lightening flashed around them in dazzling yellows and reds and Bulma was struck numb by the display until she felt him start to release her. "Are you insane?! I don't have any powers!"  
  
"You're not meant to use any powers!" he hollered back. "That's the whole point!"  
  
He managed to pry her arms loose and she fell screaming for about ten meters until a severe updraft picked her up and propelled her past the Saiyan who yelled after her, "Ride the currents, Bulma! Don't fight them!"  
  
"You son of a biiiiiiiii-" Another gust of wind pushed at her back and a bright lance of lightening flashed past her like a laser, leaving bright spots in her vision. As impossible as it seemed, she didn't appear to be plummeting to her death. The conflicted air masses were keeping her aloft like a ball on the waves of an ocean and her initial screams of terror became shrill peals of excitement. Extending her arms, she attempted to negotiate the updrafts as a skydiver might and managed some degree of stability. She spun and barrel-rolled as a tingling current of static- charged air pushed her up, up until she could almost catch a glimpse of the night sky above. When the current released its hold she fell back down, laughing in sheer delight and eager for the next exhilarating ride.  
  
Another hand suddenly grasped hers and she saw that Vegeta had joined her. He was still smiling and his eyes were filled with mischievous glee. Bulma thought that she had never seen him look so attractive as he did that very instant. She moved eagerly into his arms, relishing the feel of his body against her own and wrapped her arms around his neck. Together the pair sailed in the conflicting air masses, twisting in the currents with a grace and dexterity no pair of dancers could ever dare to mimic on land. Lightening flashed around them in dizzying patterns and once, a wind draft sent the two spiraling upwards until they cleared the upper canopy of the storm clouds and were enveloped by an endless carpet of brilliant stars. The sensation of weightlessness lasted for perhaps five seconds before they fell back into the embrace of the churning clouds.  
  
"This is wonderful! Why haven't you done this before?" Bulma screamed in delight.  
  
"Because I'm drunk," he said, stating the obvious. "Take advantage of the moment, Bulma. I'll be sober soon."  
  
She knew what he meant. Her lips molded their quivering curves against his, her dainty tongue sliding into his mouth like a curious snake, exploring and caressing. Matching the kiss with equal fervor, Vegeta's hands restlessly explored her body, squeezing her breasts and behind as the storm raged on around them with growing ferocity. He grew careless of the threat, not keeping track of the energy and a spear of lightening flashed past, much too close. It actually singed their clothes.  
  
"I think we've overstayed our welcome," Bulma said in a shaky voice at the near miss, ducking her head as a deafening blast of thunder roared at them.  
  
"I think you're right," Vegeta agreed in a humbled tone. He powered up and swiftly dropped out of the raging clouds, aborting the Saiyan dance out of deference to an elemental force that had no tolerance for such frivolity. It was now pouring heavily over the Capital and the pair were immediately drenched when they ran for shelter under a doorway.  
  
"It'll pass by soon enough," he said, his eyes still drawn to the play of lightening in the clouds. "Storms like this never last long."  
  
"I don't mind."  
  
He spared her a glance and saw that she was smiling at him, still breathing heavily from her thrill ride in the storm. The rain had made her thin top transparent and he could plainly make out the erect nubs of her nipples beneath the damp material. With a growl, he forced her back against the wall, crushing his mouth against hers as he ripped open her shirt to grasp one firm breast. His other hand slid up between her legs and began to caress her womanhood through the thin fabric of her panties. Wrapping one leg around the back of his thighs, she eagerly opened herself to his touch.  
  
"I want you," he gusted in her ear, tracing kisses down her neck. "I need you, Bulma."  
  
"Oh Vegeta," she whispered, guiding his mouth back to her own. "It's been too long..."  
  
He pulled down her panties and easily slid one finger up inside of her, then two, deliberately rubbing them against the swollen nub of her clitoris. Her body jerked in reaction like an electric shock at the intensity of her sudden climax. Her nails clawed at the bunched muscles of his back, drawing blood, and the sensation only fueled his raging lust. Fumbling with his belt, he freed his straining erection and slid its full length into her eager warmth with one complete stroke. Moaning, he slipped his hands beneath her bottom and effortlessly picked her up and she scissored her legs behind his thighs, panting along with him as he began hunching into her. She fastened her soft mouth over his tightened lips, whimpering in pleasure at feel of his shaft thrusting inside of her.  
  
When they paused for breath, he buried his face in her hair and inhaled her intoxicating scent. He caught the blending mix of her shampoo and perfume; a fruity, floral combination that was both heady and pungent to his overactive sense of smell. His stomach, bloated with conflicting alcohols, gave one sudden, alarming lurch in reaction.  
  
"Uh oh," he said, pulling away from her quickly. His face had turned a sickly gray.  
  
"Vegeta?" she asked in concern.  
  
They were blinded by the sudden glare of a powerful flashlight in their faces and a voice yelling at them; "Knock it off you two! This is a public place!" A police cruiser was parked at the curb; it's whirling strobes casting conflicting red and white patterns across the storefronts and apartment buildings. Bulma was stunned that neither of them had noticed the car pull up and she pushed herself off of Vegeta and tried to gather the front of her blouse together as she pulled down her skirt. "S-sorry, officer-"  
  
"Sorry don't cut it, missy," the cop snapped at her. He turned his disapproving gaze to Vegeta who was dazedly staring back. "What about you, fella? What have you got to say for yourself?"  
  
His pants still bunched around his knees, Vegeta released one sour burp and promptly vomited the equivalent of five bottles of undigested booze all over the officer's shoes.  
  
"Ah shit!" the cop grumbled in disgust.  
  
  
  
Muted voices woke him out of a sound sleep where dreams of lightening and moist heat dominated. Stirring restlessly in a confined, uncomfortable space, he buried his head into the pillow in a vain attempt to escape the early morning light. Trying to fall back asleep was impossible as that dreaded pressure settled around his brain like a vice. The grandfather of all hangovers had ruthlessly slipped in while his guards were down and claimed him without mercy.  
  
Kicking irritably at the blanket covering him, he opened his eyes a crack and tried to figure out where he was. The couch was familiar and he realized he was in the living room of the Headquarters building. He rolled over onto his back and recoiled from the object looming over him. An immense pine tree was propped up beside the sofa, at least twenty feet high.  
  
Even worse, the damn tree was singing.  
  
"Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas treeeee, la la la la la lahhhh la! Darn it, I forgot the words," Krillin said, stepping out from behind the huge tree. "Hiya Vegeta, have a good sleep?"  
  
"When I find my feet I'm going to kick your ass off the balcony, you nose- less freak."  
  
"Hey! How about a little compassion? I'm nasally challenged, y'know," the small fighter joked. He knew that when Vegeta talked about an action rather than immediately carrying it out it was meant as it sounded; a verbal warning, nothing more. Examining the Saiyan closer, he concluded; "Man, you look like crap."  
  
"Then I look better then how I feel," the Saiyan moaned, gripping his aching skull before it exploded. He had thought that he'd succumbed to hallucinations for a moment and now wished that he had. At least the miserable little tone-deaf monk would have disappeared.  
  
"Krillin!" Gohan shouted with excitement as he burst from the kitchen. He vaulted over the backrest of the couch and landed squarely on the Saiyan's lap. Vegeta bellowed in pain and fell to the floor, curling briefly into an agonized ball.  
  
"Vegeta, I'm sorry-"  
  
"I should have killed you all when I had the chance," Vegeta coughed, getting slowly to his feet. Without another word to either of them, he flew up to the second floor landing to go to his personal quarters. Krillin noticed that his shirt was off as well as something else; shallow scratches along his back. He released a low whistle and turned to Gohan, asking eagerly; "What'd I miss?"  
  
Upstairs, Vegeta was splashing water on his flushed face when there was a rap of knuckles on the bathroom door. "Go away!" he hollered, groaning at the sound of his own voice.  
  
Bulma opened the door and glanced in. "How do you feel?"  
  
"How do you think?" he parried crossly. He forced himself past her and walked to the bed, pulling back the covers in preparation to catch some much-needed rest. "What happened last night?"  
  
A wounded expression came over Bulma's face. "You don't remember? Any of it? I-I should have guessed that it was too good to be true-"  
  
"-After I puked on the cop, what happened?" he cut in.  
  
Relieved, she sat beside him on the bed and started laughing when she said, "You passed out right after that little scene. The officer recognized who I was and drove us back home. He was not a happy man. Neither was my father. He was still waiting up when the officer carried you in."  
  
Releasing a groan, Vegeta collapsed back into the pillow. He privately wondered if there was ever going to be an end to all of the tortures that this world had in store for him. He supposed it could have been worse; he could have heaved on Dr. Briefs. Somehow, the thought didn't give him any comfort.  
  
"Last night was... incredible. Until we got busted, that is." She rubbed his firm chest in a gentle caress and softly asked, "It wasn't a mistake, was it? Do you have any regrets about what we did?"  
  
He rubbed his burning eyes with the heel of his hand. "Only that I didn't get a chance to finish," he told her honestly.  
  
It was the answer she wanted to hear. "We'll have plenty of opportunity-"  
  
"-Not now. I think I left one of my balls on the living room floor thanks to Kakarrot's brat. And my head is killing me."  
  
Nodding, Bulma placed an object that she had been carrying on the nightstand. "I brought these for you in case your headache gets any worse."  
  
He picked up the bottle of pills and read the print on the label. They were the same painkiller tabs that he had taken at the apartment. "I don't like taking drugs," he muttered, putting the bottle back.  
  
"I know, but there's no sense suffering. Until your mind heals itself of the damage, you're going to have to take them."  
  
"I don't have to do anything," he said crossly.  
  
She could sense that he wasn't in the mood for a conversation and got quickly to her feet. "Suit yourself, tough guy. Things are pretty hectic today. I'll be downstairs in my office if you need me. "  
  
"I won't."  
  
Pausing at the door, Bulma cast him an unfathomable look and then betrayed a small smile. "That a fact?" she asked teasingly. Before he could ask her what the hell she was talking about, she flashed him a wink and closed the door.  
  
"Women," he grunted in dismay to the now-empty room and slowly shook his aching head.  
  
  
  
By late afternoon he felt a little better; more to the credit of two painkillers than any real sleep. Lounging in bed wasn't something he enjoyed doing and it didn't help that he could hear Krillin's mutilation of "Deck the Halls" from his room. Joining in the chorus was Bulma's mother, which made the cacophony even worse. The blond could hit a pitch that almost shattered crystal. The pair was decorating the large tree, now erect on the corner of the living room, with garish colored orbs and tinsel. For a moment Vegeta blinked at the scene, wondering if he was stuck in some crazy nightmare until Trunks caught his attention.  
  
The boy was nearby, quietly entertaining himself in a playpen with his stuffed toys when he noticed the Saiyan. "Vah-Dahdy!" he called out, playtime immediately forgotten as he scrambled over to see him.  
  
"Hi Vegeta!" Mrs. Briefs called out from her perch on a stepladder. On the opposite side of the tree, Krillin looked around in time to see the Saiyan wander over to where Trunks was standing.  
  
"Why is it that every time I see my son, he's in a cage?" Vegeta asked churlishly, hoisting the boy out of the pen and placing him on the carpet. "He doesn't like it and neither do I."  
  
"Yah!" Trunks piped up in agreement.  
  
"It's so he doesn't get into any trouble," Krillin offered.  
  
Vegeta scowled at him. "He can't power up and he can't fly. How much trouble can the little whelp get into?"  
  
While the pair bickered, Mrs. Briefs went back to decorating and Trunks scampered over to the tree, ogling the shiny ornaments with wide, innocent eyes. "Woo-pwetty!" He jumped up and snagged a branch in one chubby fist and with a burst of strength that no eleven-month old could manage, he hauled on the limb as hard as he could.  
  
The tree pitched over on top of Trunks, Vegeta and Krillin, dragging Mrs. Briefs along with it, screaming the entire way. It landed with a crash and for a moment all was silent until Trunks climbed free and excitedly exclaimed, "'gan dahdy! Wheeeeee!"  
  
Vegeta crawled out from underneath of the ruin of broken branches and shattered ornaments, spitting out pine needles. From beside him, Krillin sputtered, "Does that answer your question?"  
  
Casting him a sour look, the Saiyan picked up Trunks by the back of his shirt and unceremoniously dropped the baby back in the playpen on his way into the kitchen. Behind him, he could hear Mrs. Briefs trying to soothe the boy who was starting to wail in displeasure.  
  
Vegeta was beginning to think that he should have stayed in bed when he saw Chi Chi bent over the sink, doing dishes. "What happened out there?" she asked him.  
  
As ever, he always analyzed the tone of voice she used when she addressed him. There didn't to be any of her usual bitterness, just genuine curiosity, and he responded with, "The plant fell over."  
  
She rushed out to investigate and, relieved, he heated a plate of leftovers in the microwave. He had almost finished with the meal when she returned. "What a mess! I told them they should have secured the tree to the wall but did they listen to me? Of course not! Now look at what happened! I swear that they-" She watched the Saiyan roll his eyes and immediately snapped, "Why do you have to be such a bastard all of the time? I was actually trying to be nice!"  
  
Swallowing a mouthful, he casually shot back; "Why bother? You're not fooling anyone with that act. You're a bitch and you always will be."  
  
Her cheeks went crimson with rage. "How dare you insult me like that, you filthy Saiyan! If I wasn't pregnant, I'd - I'd-"  
  
"-What? Nag me to death? I'm beginning to understand why Kakarrot didn't want to come back to life. He knew he'd have to face YOU."  
  
Chi Chi released a gasp and all of the strength went out of her legs, landing her in the nearby chair. "That... that's a terrible thing to say..." she whimpered in a hurt voice, her brown eyes welling with bitter tears.  
  
"It's crossed your mind, I can see it on your face," Vegeta responded in a level voice. It was strange how the sight of Bulma's tears always made him feel weak, yet Chi Chi's just seemed to enrage him further. "I've seen how you ride Gohan. Keep it up and he's going to run away, too."  
  
"I will not accept parental advice from someone like YOU!" Chi Chi screamed, bracing herself for a reaction.  
  
She didn't get the one she expected. Vegeta only shrugged and slid the used plate into the dishwater and looked out of the window, dismissing her.  
  
Despite her animosity, Chi Chi gave Vegeta a veiled look trying to see any resemblance to her late husband that went beyond the obvious alien traits of power. The Saiyan before her was the antithesis of Gokou in appearance and temperament. He was about half a foot shorter and his spiky hair was not black but rather, under the mellow lighting of the kitchen, showed off distinct auburn highlights. There was no trace of friendliness in his cold eyes or in his face, which looked chiseled out of harsh stone. There were more lines etched into his swarthy features and around his eyes because he was older than Gokou but it seemed more than just a mere five years. Chi Chi wasn't sure if it was the upsweep of his thick hair from his high forehead and that pronounced widow's peak that made his face look so much older than Gokou's unkempt, child-like style but the effect was dramatic. What bothered her most was his condescending demeanor of regal detachment. It was so bred into him that it was obvious his bad attitude had been cultivated since his birth.  
  
Despite their varied origins, both were royalty and Chi Chi knew a thing or two about pride and it's potentially dangerous sting. It came as a brutal slap to her conscience that the pair might have more in common then she would ever voluntarily acknowledge. She had married below her status when she had become Gokou's wife and it shamed her how often she had reminded him of that fact when they quarreled. He had been a warrior, not a businessman, and all of her personal fortune had gone into supporting them. How could she not hide her disappointment? How could she not hope that Gohan fared better? Chi Chi's entire life revolved around her family and all of a sudden here was Vegeta suggesting that she was responsible for its failure. Before she could manage another verbal assault, Gohan stepped into the kitchen. Immediately reading the tension, his eyes tracked from his mother to Vegeta and back again. "Is everything okay?" he ventured.  
  
"Everything's just fine," Chi Chi said, casting the Saiyan an odd glance. "Isn't it, Vegeta?"  
  
Frowning thoughtfully at her, he only grunted and started for the door. Chi Chi watched her son trail after him like a lost puppy and felt her heart ache with loss and regret. She sat at the table for a long time, lost in thought.  
  
Returning to the chaos of the living room, Vegeta knew what Gohan wanted even before the words were out. "Interested in a spar?"  
  
"No," he said, knowing that the painkillers would interfere with his coordination. Against the boy, he needed every advantage he could get. "I'm not in the mood."  
  
Gohan looked defeated. "Oh. Is it because of what happened this morning?"  
  
Vegeta had forgotten about the blow to the balls and now glared at him. Before he could return the favor, Trunks started screaming. Mrs. Briefs had managed to calm the baby down until he caught sight of his father. "Outta cage, dahdy! Out! Out! OOOWWWTT!"  
  
"Trunks, let's sing a song," Krillin suggested and started warbling out "Jingle Bells" at the top of his lungs. Without missing a beat, Mrs. Briefs joined him while the boy continued to wail.  
  
Vegeta gritted his teeth and began shaking and Gohan looked up in alarm when he sensed a sudden rise in the Saiyan's ki. "What say we go jogging, Vegeta? It'll get you out of the house," he suggested, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.  
  
It was the right thing to say.  
  
An hour later, the pair was four kilometers from Capsule Corporation following the jogging trails of Capital Park. Despite the more temperate climate of the West coast it was still late November and Gohan had changed into heavy sweatpants and a windbreaker. Vegeta was clad in his usual spandex shorts but at least he had donned a sweater and a Capsule Corp. baseball cap. He was still self-conscious about his short hair in public even though the boy thought that the style looked good on him. He had yet to say a word since Gohan had convinced him to leave the Headquarters building.  
  
Despite failed attempts to draw him out, Gohan gamely persisted, "I'm surprised that you're not asking me why Krillin put up a tree in the living room."  
  
"Let me guess," Vegeta sneered. "It has something to do with some outdated human ritual."  
  
"Yeah, that's right!" Gohan said, relieved to finally generate a response. "Want me to tell you about it?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You're not even curious?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Not even a little?" Gohan teased and bit his tongue at the intensity of the glare he received for his good-natured persistence. "Okay, you don't want to hear it. I understand. How about what Krillin plans to do with 18?"  
  
"Whatever the midget does with that frigid bitch is none of my concern."  
  
"He's going to propose to her."  
  
Vegeta snapped his head around so fast that he actually lost his step and stumbled for a few paces before regaining his balance. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?!"  
  
Gohan nodded happily. "He wants to marry her. You should see the diamond he has picked out."  
  
"What the hell do gemstones have to do with this?"  
  
"Diamonds are special to girls. They expect one before marriage, for some reason. Krillin showed me the ring that he wants to give to her. One whole carat."  
  
The Saiyan, utterly perplexed by the subject, couldn't understand what part vegetables played in this farce. "Why doesn't he at least choose a real woman?!"  
  
"Well, there was Marron a few years back," Gohan mused. At Vegeta's irritated stare he explained, "She looked like Bulma although she was younger and not nearly as smart. She left him at the alter. He's still kinda bitter about it."  
  
"Now he's chasing after a walking toaster with the personality of a drill bit. That shrimp is a glutton for punishment," Vegeta snorted, shaking his head in dismay.  
  
"He loves her," Gohan said with a vocal shrug, as if those three little words explained everything. With a sly smile, he added, "Almost as much as you and Bulma do."  
  
"Watch it, brat," Vegeta snarled in clear warning.  
  
"What? It's the truth, isn't it? You and Bulma? You love each other-"  
  
Vegeta grabbed his arm and slammed him up against the nearest tree with such force that leaves fell around them. Too late, Gohan realized that he had crossed the line with their friendship and was facing an outraged Saiyan whose face was less than two inches from his own.  
  
"Listen good, boy, because I'm going to only say this once," Vegeta growled in barely restrained fury. "Saiyan's do not form needless attachments under the pretense of meaningless emotions. We do not bond, mate or nurture. Relationships are business transactions to propagate a particular line or to obtain power, nothing more or less. When a goal is obtained, we move on to the next opportunity. There is no such thing as 'love' in our vocabulary. Remember that!"  
  
In a calm, level voice, Gohan asked him directly, "Are you trying to convince me of that or yourself?" He barely managed to duck in time before a fist went crashing into the trunk where his head had been resting an instant before. Vegeta immediately released a pained shout and grabbed his previously injured hand. The blow had torn open all the stitches. Gohan had noticed the bandages but hadn't thought it anything serious until he saw the blood starting to drip onto the grass. "We've got to get you to the infirmary-"  
  
"Leave me alone," he snarled through bared teeth. When the boy wordlessly stepped back, he powered up and flew back to Capsule Corporation.  
  
It was déjà vu all over again as Vegeta had his hand re-stitched by the same nurse who had tended to him barely a day before. Even his reputation as a badass didn't deter her from offering her two cents worth, and to his credit the Saiyan endured her criticism. It seemed like everyone wanted to take a shot at him today and he was just too emotionally spent to bother arguing back anymore. When she was done, he jumped off the bed and left the sterile confines of the medical wing to head one flight down into Research and Development. It had been a few years since he had last been down here but little had changed. He kept telling himself that he was just exploring until he ended up in front of Bulma's office, staring at the closed door.  
  
"Ms. Briefs has left for the day," her secretary told him. "Was there anything I could help you with?"  
  
"No," Vegeta muttered and turned down the corridor. He looked in on Dr. Briefs but the old man was in a meeting and the Saiyan moved on before he was noticed. He figured his early morning less-than-dramatic entrance must have been quite a sight and wouldn't set the man in a proper mood for what the Saiyan wanted to ask. Without any cash in his pocket, Vegeta felt unnecessarily trapped at Capsule Corp. and he was about to shelf his smothering pride and ask for a loan. The very idea shamed him, considering their past history, but he could see no other alternative. He decided to wait around for the old man to finish his meeting, knowing full well that he was feeling humbled today and by tomorrow he would have his head up his ass as usual. Best that the old man take advantage of his indecision now before he could put up much protest.  
  
While he waited, a tall, lanky man in a lab coat stepped out of the breakroom and glanced at him, his jaw dropping in surprise. "Vegeta?!"  
  
The Saiyan jumped in surprise and immediately tensened up when the human came trotting over. "Holy shit! It's really you!" He got down on his knees and wrapped his arms around Vegeta's waist in a bear hug while saying over and over, "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthank-"  
  
"Release me, you idiot, before I blast you!"  
  
Charles McNeal clambered back to his feet and grabbed a handful of Vegeta's sweater, forcibly pulling him down the hall. "You gotta see this-"  
  
"Let me go!" Vegeta pulled himself free and glared up at the man. Vaguely, he recognized the hyper scientist who was one of Bulma's colleagues in the department. He was brilliant but damned annoying.  
  
"You have to come with me, Vegeta. It's all because of you!"  
  
"What the hell are you babbling about?"  
  
"Come on! You have to see this for yourself."  
  
Despite his better judgment the Saiyan reluctantly trailed after him, trying not to be too obvious about his own growing curiosity. He knew that Charles was leading him into the Prototype Development lab where he had worked as a designer for a short, humiliating period. The area was buzzing with activity when they stepped through the doors; people were clustered in groups or running around to various drafting tables that were set up. The level of noise from conflicted conversations was so loud that Charles had to jump up on a nearby desk in an attempt to get their attention. He clapped his hands and jumped up and down and finally, when enough people looked his way, he announced, "Everybody! This is Vegeta!"  
  
The entire room went dead silent. Vegeta sweat-dropped as all eyes in the room turned to stare at him and he was close to bolting. All of a sudden, someone in the back of the crowd began clapping until everybody in the room joined in. The applause swelled and grew in intensity until cheers and shouts of praise joined in, numbing Vegeta to the core. For some strange reason, he appeared to be the sole recipient. He looked at Charles in confusion. "What's this all about?"  
  
"C'mon over here, li'l buddy," Charles said, leading him to a nearby drafting table. The Saiyan cast him a dirty look but the harried scientist didn't even notice. "Old Man Briefs showed up with them this morning. I'm allowed to expand the R and D department so that we can begin prototype development. At least sixty new people are going to get hired and it's all thanks to you!"  
  
Vegeta eyed the sketch that was carefully taped to the table surface and felt his blood run cold when he recognized what he was looking at. There were six other tables in the department that displayed the rest. He had spent countless hours at the kitchen table of a dead soldier's apartment putting these designs to paper, even when the agony of a migraine caused him see double, sometimes triple what he was writing down. He had pressed on, encouraged by Bulma's angelic face and his own desire to leave something for her so that he would not be forgotten. Here they were, scattered among strangers who had no idea of their true meaning or of the personal cost with which they had been originally put to paper. All that anybody cared about was that they were going to make a rich company even richer.  
  
"What do you think, Vegeta?" Charles asked when the other man's odd silence stretched on.  
  
Unable to form words in his fury and betrayal, Vegeta pushed him out of the way and buffeted aside anyone who came too close in his haste to make an exit. There were questions that demanded a direct answer and the Saiyan purposely hunted down the only person who could provide them.  
  
  
  
Bulma was taking a well-deserved shower before she went down to supper. She hadn't gotten more than a few hours sleep last night, too exhilarated from her 'dancing' with Vegeta and their frantic coupling in the doorway. So close! They had been so close! Now there was no telling how long it would be until Vegeta loosened up again and relented to let her get close and intimate. It could be days or weeks, even months, before it ever happened again.  
  
Lathering up her body, she stood under the shower spray and ran her fingers in a teasing caress up between her legs. After the sensation of feeling Vegeta's length deep inside of her, she wasn't sure if she could wait. Her body had accepted him as easily as if the time between them had never happened and she wanted to experience that pleasure again.  
  
She quickly pulled her hand away and forced herself to turn off the water. Escaping into a masturbating fantasy held its attraction but she had a genuine dilemma on her hands. She was in uncharted waters and knew that she was attempting what no other woman in the entire universe had ever managed to do: Tame the mercurial Saiyan prince and have him all to herself. She wasn't even sure it was possible. Wanderlust was as strong in Vegeta as the need for battle. Did she really have any hope keeping him close to her? Too many questions...  
  
Her mind swamped with worry and doubt, she didn't notice the figure outside of the shower until she slid open one of the doors and saw Vegeta standing there. "Oh my G-"  
  
"!!I DREW THOSE FOR YOU!!" Vegeta roared at her, forcing her back against the tiles. "They weren't meant for your greedy father or those idiot employees or this stupid company. They were for you and you alone!"  
  
"Vegeta, what are you talking about-"  
  
"The designs!" he shouted in her face. "I drew those while my brains were practically leaking out of my ears and you just gave them away! How could you do that to me?"  
  
Bulma realized that he had gone downstairs and somehow found about what was going on in the Research and Development department. "It's not what you think-"  
  
"Tell me what I think, I'm curious," he shot back.  
  
"It was meant to be a surprise-"  
  
"Oh, it sure as hell was that!"  
  
"Dammit Vegeta! It was going to be an early Christmas present!" she yelled back, forgetting her nudity for the moment and intent on hammering this point home before it blew beyond all proportion. "I was having the lab prepare patents of all seven designs so that I could give them to you."  
  
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean to me?"  
  
"It means, mister wizard, that once production begins you'll be receiving royalties from the designs because you'll retain sole ownership. You're going to be rich!"  
  
He blinked at her. "Rich?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How rich?"  
  
"Very rich."  
  
"Richer than you?"  
  
"Now you're pushing it."  
  
The hostility finally left his face and he crossed his arms and leaned against the shower doors, barring her way while he mulled over what she had told him. "All from just from a few designs?"  
  
"Vegeta, one of your sketches details a device that can extract hydrogen from saltwater molecules and convert it safely into raw energy. Do you have any idea what that patent will be worth?"  
  
"No," he responded honestly.  
  
Her eyes softened, understanding his genuine confusion. "I was so touched when I found that envelope in the apartment addressed to me. It was a wonderful gift because I know what those designs meant coming from you. I really didn't want to share them but they were too important to hide away in my dresser. Earth can benefit from these devices-"  
  
"-And Capsule Corporation."  
  
"Well, I am a businesswoman," she answered honestly.  
  
He raised an eyebrow at that but made no comment. He supposed that he could see her point of view in the matter but he still felt inexplicable betrayal by the action. It lessened the more he thought about another fine point she had brought up. "Rich?" he asked again, unable to hide the unmistakable sheen of greed in his eyes.  
  
"Let me put it this way; your days of paying for a bottle of whiskey with quarters are over."  
  
"Hnh. I'll believe that when I see it."  
  
Bulma threw up her arms in dismay. "God! Does the glass always have to be half empty with you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You're incorrigible."  
  
"Uh huh," he said, deliberately eyeing her nudity for the first time. The sight of it made the last of his indignation evaporate and he decided to let the matter rest in favor of a more pressing matter.  
  
Noticing his gaze, Bulma made an attempt to cover herself with the small washcloth, realized how ridiculous she looked and dropped it. Placing her hands on her hips, she said waspishly, "It's very rude to stare, you know."  
  
"Incorrigible people tend to do that," he said with a leering grin. He was pleased to see that pregnancy had left no stretch marks on her breasts or stomach. Her figure was as flawless as ever.  
  
She watched him step into the shower stall with her and slide the door closed. "What do you think you're doing?"  
  
He removed his cap and pulled off his sweater and closed the distance between them until she was forced back against the wall. "It occurs to me that we have some unfinished business," he told her, running a finger across her lips and down her chest until he was cupping one firm breast. He flicked his tongue briefly over the nipple before raising his mouth to kiss her.  
  
When they had parted, Bulma confided to him, "I've realized that I'm not complete when you're away from me. These last few months were-were horrible and I never even endured a fraction of the hell you went through." Her voice went hoarse with suppressed emotion but she managed to get out; "I don't want to lose you again."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere," he promised her. That devilish smirk of his was back as well as that roguish glint to his eyes. "At least... not until I get what I came for."  
  
"I think that can be arranged."  
  
She reached for him beneath the waistband of his shorts and grasped his hardness with gentle fingers. Urgently sliding the tight material down his lean hips, she knelt down and claimed him with her mouth, lapping at the head of his thick shaft while her hand kneaded and squeezed the hardened flesh.  
  
Extending an arm to steady himself, Vegeta watched her skillful ministrations through slitted eyes and then glanced at the shower controls. He reached over and turned on the water.  
  
"What the hell-" Bulma sputtered, immediately soaked again in the sudden spray.  
  
"I wanted to recreate the conditions of last night," he said as he effortlessly hoisted her up until she was poised over his erection. The water smoothened down his thick hair, softening the severity of his features and he looked into her dazzling blue eyes and betrayed a genuine, affectionate smile. She scissored her legs around his back and slowly eased herself down on his throbbing length, moaning in pleasure until he was completely embedded within her smooth warmth.  
  
Resting his back against the tiled wall, he drove into her with slow, measured strokes. Bulma cried out in sheer pleasure as his pace sped up and she fastened her mouth on his shoulder, her teeth nipping at his skin. Shivering against him, she moaned over and over, "It's been too long, Vegeta. More, I want more-" Her body spasmed in his arms with a violent, intense climax and the rhythmic squeezing of her internal muscles was too much. With a choked cry, Vegeta came inside of her. It felt like his spine was unraveling with the force of his orgasm and seemed to go on forever until his legs buckled and the pair slid to the floor of the stall.  
  
Bulma straddled his hips and laid over him while the water from the shower gently flowed over their bodies. They were silent for a long time until Vegeta wiped the wet hair out of his eyes and stared up at her. "I knew I forgot something," he grumbled.  
  
Frowning at him in confusion for a few seconds, Bulma shook her head. "Honestly, I'm back on the pill. You don't have to worry about protect-"  
  
"My sneakers. I forgot to take the damn things off."  
  
She looked around and sure enough, he was still wearing his jogging shoes, now completely soaked. She started laughing at the sight. "That's okay, you needed the traction," she told him and giggled when he laughed at the truth.  
  
  
  
Downstairs, Chi Chi sat at the dinner table glaring at the two empty place settings. Dr. and Mrs. Briefs were eating quietly while Trunks sat in his high chair, devouring a bowl of noodles. Gohan was staring at the ceiling with an odd, dreamy expression on his young face. The boy could sense the pulsating spikes in Vegeta's ki and had a pretty good idea what was going on. After the confrontation in the park, he was worried that perhaps he had pushed the Saiyan too far. Now he was pleased to see that things were returning back to normal for the couple.  
  
"Where on earth are they?" Chi Chi fretted. "Vegeta, I might understand but it isn't like Bulma to not inform me if she wasn't coming to supper."  
  
She got up from the table and Gohan felt a brief surge of alarm. "Mom, I wouldn't go chasing after them if I was you."  
  
"Why not?" she asked him with a challenging stare and couldn't understand why the boy started blushing. With a huff, she left the dining room and stormed up the stairs, marching down the hall to Bulma's quarters. She found the door locked and began urgently knocking on it. "Is everything alright in there? Bulma, supper is on the table. Can you hear me? I said that you're missing supper! Hellooo-"  
  
The door was unlocked and Chi Chi stepped back, preparing to demand an explanation from her. She was completely caught off guard at the sight of the individual who opened the door.  
  
Rubbing a towel into his wet hair, Vegeta faced the brunette without expression. Completely nude, he made no attempt to cover himself as he informed her in a bored tone of voice, "If you're looking for a full- blooded Saiyan to service you, you'll have to take a number. I've got my hands full at the moment." Without another word he slammed the door shut in her face and locked it.  
  
All of the blood ran out of Chi Chi's face as she stared at the closed door. Her bottom lip started trembling until her entire body began to shake. All at once she drew in breath and started screaming.  
  
Bulma was trying to smother her laughter into the pillow as Vegeta sauntered back to bed. Outside of the door, it sounded as if someone was being slaughtered by the racket that the brunette created with her tantrum. It lasted for well over a minute and ended with a deliberate kick at the door before they heard the stamps of her footfalls fade down the hall. "Ohmigod! Vegeta, you're going to send her into premature labor!"  
  
"The sooner she pops out that brat, the sooner she'll be out of here," he muttered, carefully wrapping the damp towel around his injured hand. Their little adventure in the shower had caused it to start bleeding again. To get his mind off of the pain, he settled in beside Bulma and began to slowly reacquaint himself with her body, starting with her breasts.  
  
While he fondled and licked, she ran an idle hand through his hair and placidly stared up at the ceiling. "I don't see Chi Chi leaving anytime soon. Her family fortune is exhausted and living here is about the only handout she'll accept. Like you, she has her pride."  
  
Vegeta knew about the high cost that arrogant pride demanded from its host. It was about the only thing that the pair had in common. "I'll think of something," he told her, tracing lingering kisses down her flat stomach.  
  
"Nothing nasty, I hope."  
  
He had found the soft curls that framed her womanhood and released only a distracted grumble of sound. Bulma decided not to press the issue and forgot it entirely when his tongue found her sensitive nub and began teasing it. Opening her legs to give him better access, she sighed gratefully, "It's been a loooong twenty months..."  
  
"Hnh. Try thirty-six," he corrected, looking over at her.  
  
"Wha-? Three years?"  
  
"I spent almost a year and a half in the room of Spirit and Time, remember?"  
  
She could have slapped herself. "That's right! You must have been crawling the walls."  
  
"Trust me, I did a lot of hand-to-gland combat," he quipped and returned to orally pleasuring her. While his tongue fluttered and probed, he thought that she was finally getting into what he was doing until she said, "I do."  
  
He released a disgusted snort and gave up, resting his head against her leg. She was in talking mode and until she said her piece, he might as well be trying to give cunnilingus to a statue. "You 'do' what?" he asked in exasperation.  
  
"Trust you." Bulma moved around so that they were face to face. "With my heart and my soul."  
  
He propped his head up and stared at her with half-open eyes, trying to contain his growing impatience. Reaching out to his face, she lovingly stroked his cheek as she continued, "Do I have your trust again? Do I have sihskar?"  
  
That got a startled grunt out of him. He sat up and stared at her in astonishment. "How the hell do you know that word?"  
  
"When you had been suffering from the V'Nhar, you explained it to me once. It's the Saiyago word for trust, am I right?"  
  
Staring at her open, pleading face, Vegeta actually faltered in his original intent to simply humor her in order to have sex again. She spoke the revered word so casually, ignorant of its true meaning to a full- blooded Saiyan. It was only ever used in reference to the most remarkable of occasions and only spoken to the most cherished of individuals. That he had even used it in Bulma's presence was an indication of how much she meant to him; then and particularly now. His memories were still a tangled mess but he could clearly remember his pledge to her back at that apartment in Pitch. One that had come true until Dende had brought him back.  
  
Bulma... My life for yours.  
  
"Vegeta...?" Bulma wasn't sure what to make of his prolonged silence. There was an expression on his face that she had never seen before. He looked torn between confusion and sadness. "Are you alright?"  
  
Vegeta was thinking of Krillin's intentions towards android 18. It appeared to be a complicated process involving jewelry, produce, and begging but he couldn't wrap his brain around the significance of any of it. His earlier words to Gohan had been true enough; Saiyans did not demean themselves with nonsensical courtship rituals. Females were considered equals, not objects that had to be bribed, conquered, or coerced to gain favor. Unions did not have to be authorized by some outside source. More often then not, they were considered a private matter. Vegeta chose to be with Bulma and visa versa; according to Saiyan law, that was enough to make their relationship legitimate.  
  
Unfortunately, there was the serious matter of a culture gap between them; one split by a distance of several thousand light-years. He was on Earth now and, although he didn't like it one bit, he had to abide by its laws. That also meant accepting its strange customs. He had decided soon after his arrival that none of this world's rites and rituals applied to him. Maybe, just maybe, he could bend the rules to his own benefit so that he didn't lose face.  
  
"Vegeta." She was beginning to get worried now. The Saiyan's prolonged silence meant that he was thinking very hard and she knew from personal experience that it was never a good thing. "What's going on in that devious mind of yours?"  
  
"I'm searching for the answer you want," he told her in a voice very different from his usual harsh manner.  
  
She drew away from him a little. "If you have to think about it then I can guess what the answer is going to be," she said in a hurt voice. She began to pull the bedspread self-consciously around her bare shoulders. "You got what you came for. I think it's time you l-"  
  
Rolling his eyes, he pulled her close and kissed her. She resisted for a fleeting moment but eventually relaxed against him. "Stop taking everything so personal," he chastised her, brushing aside errant strands of hair so that he could see her brilliant blue eyes. "I'm trying to pick the right words to say. I want them to be special."  
  
Before she could respond, he laid his forehead against hers and restored the neglected bonds of their mental rapport. She could hear his voice drift across her mind like a swelling storm cloud that rolled end over end on powerful currents. The words were exotic and alien, the language of a shape- shifting warrior race that were now ashes riding on solar winds.  
  
'Tas'Kif sihskar mri Bulma-tik'o,' Vegeta told her, providing the meaning that went far beyond English words. Included in the translation were emotions and thoughts, feelings that he could never betray out loud; all freely exposed to her mind so that she could see the truth. There was so much for her to sort out from the brief exchange but she caught its intended meaning and hugged him when it was over, sobbing in relief. It was all that she could have ever asked for.  
  
Vegeta had just told her that he trusted her again.  
  
  
  
-------------------------------------------------- If you want to be on the Mailing List, e-mail me at: darke_angelus@hotmail.com Or visit my web site at: www.angelfire.com/anime4/darkeside/home.htm  
  
-------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Seventeen: The Final Chapter! (Sorry folks, but you knew it was coming!) 


	17. Vegeta's Last Laugh

Two Sides To A Story Chapter Seventeen  
  
At seven-thirty the next morning, everyone was seated in the dining room but for the noticeable absence of two individuals. Mr. and Mrs. Briefs ate their breakfast and shared their usual nonsensical banter while Chi Chi glared daggers at the empty place settings. She was still upset over the manner in which she had been treated last night and didn't appreciate being made to look like a fool.  
  
The door to the dining room swung open and Vegeta walked in. Trunks was seated in his highchair and had his face practically buried in a bowl of cereal. Sensing his father, he looked up long enough to babble a greeting and went back to devouring his breakfast.  
  
"Where's Bulma?" Chi Chi asked neutrally as the Saiyan seated himself beside Gohan. The boy barely acknowledged his presence, as he appeared to be in a losing battle with just keeping his eyelids open. Ever sensitive to Vegeta's ki, the boy had been roused from sleep every time the older Saiyan and Bulma had coupled, which had been almost every other hour until dawn. Even as Gohan's mind tried to block out what was going on, his over- stimulated groin fixated on it and he ended up spending most of the night in the bathroom. Now he was chaffed, sore, and exhausted and just hoped to catch up on his sleep at school.  
  
"Who do I look like? Her keeper?" Vegeta responded and busied himself with filling his plate. To say he had worked up an appetite was an understatement.  
  
Her eyes narrowing in anger, the brunette was about to start interrogating him when the door swung open and Bulma stood in the threshold yelling, "Good morning, everyone! My! What a beautiful day!"  
  
She ruffled Trunks' hair as she walked by and kissed her parents on the cheek and took her seat beside Chi Chi. "Boy, am I famished. This looks great, 'Chi. You really outdid yourself this time," she gushed, her cheeks flushed with emotion. Despite the lack of sleep, she was practically glowing and couldn't stop the corners of her lips from lifting in sheer happiness. She filled her plate with eggs and hash browns and began eating with true relish.  
  
Chi Chi made no comment and picked at the contents on her own plate as she carefully observed the late arrivals. Every once in awhile Vegeta and Bulma would exchange a brief glance and a small smile, as if they were sharing a secret. Once, Bulma reached out for the salt just as the Saiyan was in the motion of grabbing it and their fingers connected. Self-consciously clearing his throat, Vegeta actually surrendered the container to her while the heiress giggled like a schoolgirl.  
  
Chi Chi couldn't take it anymore. She slapped her hands down on the table and stood up. "All right, it's clear to everyone that you two have reunited. The entire household could hear it last night."  
  
"Can't be helped. I'm a screamer," Vegeta retorted and Bulma burst out laughing before clamping a hand over her mouth.  
  
Visibly bristling, the brunette continued, "If the pair of you want to live in sin, that's your business-"  
  
"Excuse me?" Bulma gasped.  
  
"-I just expect the two of you to have a little consideration for the rest of us living in this house," Chi Chi said in a harsh voice. "I don't think it's too much to ask for, do you?"  
  
The standoff lasted for about ten seconds before Bulma forced herself to say, "No, Chi Chi, it's not. We're sorry."  
  
Vegeta flashed her a sharp glare before turning his livid gaze back on Kakarrot's mate. "The woman does not speak for me and my opinion is the only one that matters here-"  
  
"ExCUSE me?" Bulma asked again, this time focusing her outraged stare solely at the Saiyan.  
  
"Everyone, let's just settle down-" Mr. Briefs was attempting to calm the antagonists with little success.  
  
"NO!" Vegeta thundered. He got to his feet and pointed a rigid finger at Chi Chi who glared back, unflinching. "You're just a miserable bitch who can't stand seeing anyone being happy- Particularly me. I'm your problem, so be honest with it instead of trying to hide behind some outdated propriety bullshit."  
  
"You're just using Bulma like you've been using others all of your life," Chi Chi ground out from between clenched teeth. "Commitment means nothing to you. When you're finished with her, you'll move on while poor Trunks will have to suffer being called a bastard for the rest of his life."  
  
At this, Trunks looked up from stuffing fruitloops into his mouth and cocked his head to the side. "Bast'?" he mewled in confusion, looking to his mother and father and back again.  
  
"Chi Chi, this is NOT the place or the time for this," Bulma hissed, her cheeks flooding a deep crimson.  
  
"I used to have respect for you, Bulma," Chi Chi said with clear disdain in her voice. "For all of your money, for all of your influential contacts... this was the best you could do?" She motioned at Vegeta and shook her head. "Pathetic."  
  
His entire body vibrating like a taut spring, Vegeta was poised to leap over the table and snap the bitch's neck in less time then it would take to even consider the act. Several things swayed this potentially disastrous course: He and Chi Chi were not alone; the entire household was present and his days of executing family units were over. Even more unnerving was the feeble ki emanating from the woman's womb; a reminder of its sire and a debt that still had to be repaid. The crazed bloodlust pulled at Vegeta, threatening to cloud his judgment but he no longer let the desire dominate him. Not anymore. Releasing a pent-up snarl, he retreated a step and then another. With a livid sneer twisting his lips, he pivoted on his heel and stormed out of the dining room.  
  
Bulma watched him leave with troubled eyes and then said in a remarkably level voice, "Chi Chi, you are one of my most dearest, closest friends, and I love you with all of my heart..."  
  
"Yes?" she prompted when the heiress fell silent.  
  
"But after the child is born, I expect you to go back to Mount Pazou. You've overstayed your welcome," Bulma finished crisply and scooped up Trunks as she left the room, quickly followed by her parents.  
  
Releasing a huff of exasperation, Chi Chi tapped her foot on the floor and watched her son as he gathered his schoolbag in preparation to leave. "You haven't finished your breakfast," she commented.  
  
"I lost my appetite."  
  
"I would have appreciated your coming to my defense when Vegeta insulted me."  
  
"Maybe I think he's right," Gohan muttered and walked out on her, closing the door on her strident protests.  
  
"Gohan! You march your hide right back here NOW! I mean it-" Chi Chi heard the front door slam and her commands stopped in mid syllable. He had walked out on her! She didn't know what afflicted her personally the most: His insubordination or the fact that he was siding with evil. Grinding her teeth together in pure rage, she started for the door when a kick to the womb practically brought her to her knees. Releasing a startled cry, she doubled-over and hobbled slowly to the nearest chair. The baby was reacting to her anger and lashing out in distress, bruising her insides with his frenzied movements.  
  
"It's alright," she tried to reassure the child. "Everything's alright. Mommy got a little upset, that's all. Stop your fretting baby, please... You-you're hurting me," her voice became a plaintive whine. There were a few more weakened movements and then- nothing. She suspected (hoped) that it meant that the babe had fallen asleep. Very carefully, she forced herself to her feet and made her way back to the bedroom. She'd had enough excitement this morning.  
  
  
  
By late afternoon, the hatch to the gravity simulator finally opened and Vegeta staggered outside into the sunshine. In the process of walking down the ramp, his knees buckled and if it hadn't been for quick reflexes he probably would have landed on his face. He sat on the hot metal and hung his head, waiting for his breathing and heart rate to slow down before he dared get up again. In his usual fatalistic manner, he had retreated to the simulator and channeled his rage and humiliation of the morning in the only method of coping that he knew. Now, his entire body ached from the strain and it had done little to curb his anger.  
  
Damn that peasant cow! Damn her to hell! How DARE she speak that way to- He was going to think "me" but, amazingly, his thoughts went to Trunks. She had called him a bastard; not using the word as a curse but as a title and that only enraged Vegeta more. It brought him back to his own clipped words to Gohan outside of his apartment.  
  
I"Tenacious little bastard, aren't you?"/I  
  
And the boy's response: "My parents were married. How about yours?"  
  
A damn good comeback and one that was accurate; his hadn't been. No issue on Vegetasei, but here on Earth it was coming back to bite him over and over again. It was only another remainder to the concept of marriage that Vegeta tried to dismiss. Shit, he and Bulma had only just smoothed over their differences and now Chi Chi was trying to add a whole new batch of problems into the mix. He was a man used to formulating scenarios and strategies in the shadows, but keeping one step ahead of that bitch was taxing even his methodical nature. He had to find a way to get rid of her without making it appear too obvious to the others. But how...?  
  
A solid shadow drifted over the compound and Vegeta looked up to see a bright orange blimp gliding slowly over the city. There was a screen on the side that was displaying Mr. Satan's face and some new advertisement that he was endorsing. It looked like Coca-Cola.  
  
Vegeta watched the blimp for some time, and that furrow between his eyebrows grew deeper as he became lost in thought.  
  
  
  
That evening, he didn't show up for supper and no one dared to even bring up the scene at breakfast into the sparse conversation. Bulma tended to Trunks but once the boy ate his fill, the pair left the room without a word or look to Chi Chi. Not that the brunette would have noticed. She sat in her seat and rubbed her stomach while she picked apathetically at her meal and didn't even single out Gohan for his previous outburst. Not one to discount his rare good fortune, Gohan quickly ate his supper and then went into his room for the night. He wanted to catch some much-needed sleep before Vegeta and Bulma started with their evening 'exercises'.  
  
After getting Trunks settled down to bed, Bulma watched some television with her parents. After a couple of hours, she released a loud yawn, stretched, and announced, "Well, that's it for me. I'm turning in, good night."  
  
"Good night, dear," her mother said pleasantly and passed her husband a wink when Bulma got up from the sofa. "Be sure to get plenty of... rest."  
  
Bulma's head whipped around and her cheeks flushed when she caught the double meaning to her mother's words. Neither she nor Vegeta had been discreet last night and the Saiyan wasn't the only screamer in the house. "Uh... thanks, mom. We- I- will." She felt like a humbled teenager again when she heard her parents laughing at her expense as she went up the stairs.  
  
She went to her room and got ready for bed. Once she had changed into her nightgown, she sat on the bed and stared at the door. It wasn't as if she and Vegeta had discussed the issue, but was he coming to her room or was she to go to his? Was last night just a one-time thing? She dismissed that latter thought immediately. Too much had been said and exchanged to be so readily discarded.  
  
After several minutes of kneading the cover slip on the bed with anxious fingers, she swallowed her pride and walked to the door, stepping out into the hall.  
  
She came face to face with Vegeta who had been in the process of leaving his own room and heading down the corridor in her direction. He blinked when he discovered that he had been caught and actually took a step back, as if fearing a rebuttal.  
  
Inwardly, Bulma sighed. There was still so much that the two had to work out and the Saiyan's inherent distrust was one of them. It was going to take more than one night of frenzied passion to cure that. A lot more. The prospect actually brought a smile to her face. "There you are! I was wondering when you were coming to bed."  
  
"Why should I have to go to your room?" he pouted. "At least in mine you don't trip over any useless junk."  
  
"I like my bed-"  
  
"-It's Queen-sized. That's a real insult to me. I deserve a King-sized one. After all, I am the prince-"  
  
"-of alllllll Saiyans. I know, I know," Bulma sighed dramatically. "Come on, let's stop arguing out here and go to your bed, alright?"  
  
"Yours! His! Who cares?! JUST PICK ONE!" Chi Chi screeched. The pair was bickering right outside of her bedroom door.  
  
"Sorry 'Chi," Bulma offered and managed to drag Vegeta away just as he was about to give the door a hard kick. He was wearing flannel sleep pants and she grabbed the elastic and gave it a hard yank. "Don't do it."  
  
"Why the hell not? Give me one good reason!"  
  
"Actually, I can give you two," she purred, cupping the smoothly rounded flesh of her breasts while she smiled provocatively at him.  
  
His anger evaporated, just like that. Maybe after he'd had a few more couplings under his belt he wouldn't be so susceptible to her diversionary tactics. Right now, the mere thought of Bulma's body was enough to erase any thoughts of violence from his mind. "You really do play dirty," he grumbled, casting a lingering glare at Chi Chi's closed door.  
  
"I learned from a master." Bulma offered him a playful wink and then headed down the hall towards his room.  
  
Hesitating for only a moment, Vegeta trailed along after her trying not to make it look too obvious. He found her turning down the covers to the bed and came up behind her, rubbing himself against her behind while his hands slid up under the sheer material of her nightgown. Bulma guided his hands past the elastic waistband of her panties and into the curly tangle of her pubic hair. She was already wet and it didn't take long for her to start squirming from the sensation of his teasing fingers.  
  
"I just can't seem to play hard-to-get with you," she sighed, twisting around in his arms to kiss him. Their mouths pressed together hungrily, tongues mingling with hot passion, and Bulma reached down to stroke and caress his desire-hardened flesh.  
  
"What would be the point of that?" His voice was deceptively calm as she pulled the pants down over his lean hips to expose his straining erection. "You can't resist me. No woman can." He pulled her nightgown up over her head and began kissing her soft, wide-set breasts, lost in the resilient texture of her supple mounds. Each teasing little bite on her nipples and breasts sent shivers of ecstasy through Bulma's body. She should have been angry at his cockiness but couldn't manage a debate, not over this.  
  
"Arrogant bastard," was all she managed to say but it didn't stop her from eagerly massaging his throbbing genitals with her hand.  
  
She heard him chuckle deep in his throat. "You wouldn't have me any other way."  
  
"Oh, shut up and make love to me before I come to my senses." She lay back on the bed and spread her legs wide, pushing her glistening mound upward like a flower in clear invitation.  
  
"Hnh. And I thought my days of taking orders were over," she heard him grumble, but there didn't appear to be any malice on his face when he positioned himself over her. His throbbing tool was poised at her entrance but he hesitated to admire the creamy whiteness of her skin, and those entrancing blue eyes that seem to pierce his internal darkness. With unusual care, he pulled aside a strand of her odd-colored hair and kissed her as he slid his lust-engorged shaft into her warm, familiar canal. Bulma moaned into his mouth, stretching her luscious body sensually to receive every possible millimeter of him that she possibly could.  
  
Arching perfectly over her, his muscular body rippling with sensuality, he began to move slowly in and out of her vaginal sheath. Bulma mewled in pleasure, pulling up her legs and wrapping them around his back, giving him full and total access to her accepting warmth. Every muscle in her body was shimmering with delight as she responded perfectly to his every lunging stroke. She gazed longingly into his coal black eyes, enthralled to have his rippling, powerful body entering her, feeling every taut muscle moving in perfect precision.  
  
I've never loved you more then I do this very moment, she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck.  
  
- Tell me something I don't already know, came the immediate response in her mind.  
  
Her eyes flew open in surprise but he was only smiling calmly at her. - This close together, our thoughts are intertwined. You'll have to guard your mind carefully if you don't want me to listen.  
  
- I've got nothing to hide from you, Vegeta. Not anymore, Bulma promised him, smothering his face with kisses.  
  
That offer of intimate trust caused him to falter for an instant and she could feel his mind pull closed, like dusty curtains trying to keep out the purest beam of sunshine. She knew that he was fighting a lifetime of distrust and that he felt ashamed by displaying the barest hint of empathy. She would just have to be patient and let him deal with those emotions in his own way.  
  
Vegeta 'heard' all of this in her mind and he could hardly believe how well she knew him. He would never have guessed in all of his travels that he could have found someone like her and he was not one to forsake such rare instances of luck. Completely exultant now, he felt their torrid passion was combined with the sweet ecstasy of her love that made their lovemaking extraordinary beyond even his wildest dreams. He drove into her with a frenzy of excitement, eager to pleasure this wonderful woman who could be warm, tender, and loving or erotic and voluptuous at the same time.  
  
Bulma's legs were shaking with exhilaration, clamped around his back, and she twisted and moaned as she clutched wildly at his bulging muscles. Their future was full of promise now, the time of heartache and loss well behind them, and she could scarcely contain her happiness. When she closed her eyes, she saw little pinwheels of exploding color flash behind the lids, and cried out with the explosive climax that consumed her being.  
  
Vegeta's loins began to vibrate with seething lust and his blood raced hotly through his glistening body. Every sinewy muscle undulated with a growing tide of passion until his body was poised on the knife-edge of total, electrifying release.  
  
In one spare instant he gazed deeply into the dazzling pools of Bulma's glittering blue eyes and then threw his head back and emitted a long, roaring bellow of accomplishment. Like an explosion of ice and fire, he discharged his scalding seed into the depths of her shuddering womanhood, while she writhed and screamed in exquisite bliss.  
  
It could have been minutes or hours before the wondrous rapture of their coupling began to ebb away. Vegeta reluctantly withdrew his softening member and lay next to her on the bed. There was a long silence as the two contented lovers let the lingering sensations of their passion flow over their exhausted, perspiring bodies.  
  
They were startled by Chi Chi's sudden outraged shout coming from the other side of their closed door: "For the love of God, keep it down! Some people are trying to sleep!"  
  
Bulma had to jump on Vegeta's back as the Saiyan made a sudden lunge for the door. The pair wrestled briefly before she managed to steer him successfully back to the bed. "Just a couple of more months," she promised.  
  
"She'll never leave," he ground out from between clenched teeth.  
  
Bulma sighed. She was afraid that he might be right and her small shoulders sagged with dismay. "She's my friend and she needs my help but she's also driving me crazy. What am I going to do?" she asked, climbing under the covers.  
  
"Just leave things to me."  
  
He was standing by the bed with his arms crossed, still staring at the door. She looked up at him sharply. "No killing."  
  
"There won't be any bloodshed."  
  
"So... what are you going to do?"  
  
He didn't answer right away as he silently deliberated. Finally, he walked around to the side of the bed and slipped in beside her. "I haven't got it all planned out yet. The timing isn't quite right."  
  
"God! I hope it happens soon!" she said and settled into the pillow to get some much needed rest.  
  
Lost in his customary brooding, Vegeta made no more comment and grabbed the remote control off the night table to watch some television. Bulma didn't press him for details as she once might have done and allowed herself to drift off to sleep. She knew that he was scheming but this time let herself be assured by his promise and trust his judgment.  
  
Her slight form released a contented sigh and Vegeta looked from the television to stare at her slumbering form for a long while. He wasn't used to sharing his bed. After spending a lifetime of leaving a room after sex was over, or booting out the woman he had just screwed, this turnabout on his behalf was unusual. A part of him was unsettled by her close proximity but a stronger part, mercifully, now anticipated it. He had pined for her as he spent his lonely nights in Pitch. He wasn't one to turn his back on the offer now that it was here in the flesh.  
  
Wouldn't Nappa and Radditz howl if they saw me right now, he thought somberly. At the slightest recollection of his cohorts, a blaze of pain settled over his left temple and he rubbed it with a grimace, turning back to the TV.  
  
  
  
As the days progressed with their usual post-holiday chaos, Bulma's schedule was swamped. With the addition of Vegeta's designs, her workload had more than doubled as word got out regarding Capsule Corporation's new acquisitions. Several rival companies were panicking as they desperately tried to find out the identity of the mystery designer who seemed to be single-handedly revolutionizing the technological sector. It amused Bulma that the Saiyan was entirely oblivious to the furor his contributions were creating. What's more, he didn't appear the least bit interested. At least, not until he got the first royalty cheque in his hand.  
  
About a week before Christmas, Bulma and her father had presented him with the seven patents and a bonus cheque. He had originally refused to take it, thinking it some manner of demeaning handout. It had taken close to an hour of persuading before he reluctantly accepted the offering. It wasn't until he had left that Bulma began to get an understanding of his confusion over the issue. For all of Vegeta's life the concepts of wealth and acquisition of power had meant bloodletting, intimidation, and brute force. Now, here he was being given a cheque that had a digit followed by a half a dozen zeros and all that he had done to earn the fortune was draw ideas to paper. He was still shaking his head in confusion when he climbed into his jeep and drove into the city.  
  
Bulma had all sorts of thoughts that day about what Vegeta would do with the money. Yamcha would have immediately stopped at a dealership and bought a new sports car. After that, the fighter would have bought himself an entire new wardrobe. As it turned out, all the Saiyan did was deposit the money in an account that Dr. Briefs had set up for him, and treat himself to a meal. Ever since that confrontation with Chi Chi over his and Bulma's relationship, he had refused to eat any more meals at the table if she was there. He wouldn't touch any of her leftovers and what few meals her mother made for him were substituted with catfood casseroles of his own making.  
  
When asked why he was squirreling his money away when he could be splurging on gifts for himself, Vegeta could only shrug. Further probing on her part revealed that he didn't believe that it was the first cheque of many (he still didn't trust her father) and he was keeping himself on a strict budget just in case he found himself back out on the street. None of her reassurances really quite hit home. Bulma hoped that he would eventually come around but it was very slow progress, and she had to constantly remind herself to be patient with him. For the most part, the two were absorbed in their own solitary pursuits and didn't see one another except when it was time to go to bed. By the time their mutual lusts were satisfied, there really wasn't much time left for conversation before they fell asleep.  
  
As much as Bulma tried to tell herself that they were finally free of the tortures of the summer and fall, there were still reminders that fueled her concerns. Vegeta still experienced disturbing gaps of memory that his brief rapport with Trunks hadn't filled. She would stumble upon one of these blank spots quite by accident; a conversation that he didn't remember, an incident he wasn't sure he experienced. Prior to his exposure to Frieza's poison, Vegeta's recollection had been virtually impeccable. Now, whenever he recalled something, there was an undercurrent of doubt to his voice, as if he wasn't quite sure of the details. It wounded her because she was helpless to do anything other than pretend to not notice the lapses.  
  
Also, he suffered terrible nightmares about his ordeals at Installation 15 and often woke up bathed in a cold sweat. On several occasions he called out Frieza's name and once, when Bulma reached out to touch him, he recoiled from her touch so violently that he fell out of bed. Ever the reassuring presence, Bulma managed to calm him down but it was a long time, if at all, that he managed to fall back asleep. He had not shared any of the details of his experiences at the top-secret lab with her, and she wasn't about to ask. She remembered that mysterious illness that had befallen her shortly after Chi Chi and Gohan had moved in and now realized it had been from the result of their bond. Weakened by distance and neglect, there still had been enough of a rapport between them for her body to react to what he had been enduring. Often, she would lie awake for several hours after she managed to get him settled; the victim of her own overactive imagination that recreated all sorts of tortures that Vegeta would never admit he endured. The worst one of them all being:  
  
Had Freiza gotten to him when he was vulnerable, before finally being eliminated once and for all?  
  
Her favorite moments between them were immediately after sex when Vegeta was more receptive to conversation. There was so little that she knew about him that didn't revolve around violence and every tidbit she managed to extract, no matter how seemingly insignificant, gave her some new insight into his complex character. Once the holidays were finally behind them, he seemed to relax a little more and didn't try to evade her questions with such obvious scorn. Always an opportunist, Bulma wasn't about to let such rare occasions pass by without attempting at least one probing question.  
  
"Why did you come back?" she asked him one night, scarcely before he had rolled off of her.  
  
He squinted at her in a bewildered way as he wiped his forehead with a heavy hand. It was only during brief times like these that his usual arrogant guards were down and he was virtually defenseless against her well- intentioned inquiries. "Huh?"  
  
"When you returned from training in space. Why did you come looking for me in the Capital?"  
  
"I finally made the ascension," he told her after a long pause.  
  
"Into Super Saiyan," she realized. "That's why you showed up. You wanted to share that with me?"  
  
"It didn't quite work out that way," he grumbled, lacing his fingers behind his head and staring moodily at the ceiling. She thought that he had lapsed into one of his sulks when he suddenly asked, "Was it... a difficult pregnancy?"  
  
It was the first time that he had ever willingly brought the topic up. Bulma rolled over on her stomach and stared down into his face. There was genuine curiosity in his features; nothing more or less. Keeping her voice carefully neutral, she told him, "I started bleeding right after you left. Stress had a lot to do with it but Trunks was also causing damage. I was bed-ridden right up until the delivery."  
  
Vegeta recalled the faint scar that was just above her pubic hair. "It was not a normal birth."  
  
"No. Caesarian was the only choice."  
  
"So the boy was ripped out of you." For some reason he appeared satisfied by that. "Did you scream?"  
  
She blinked at him. "Did I-? I was numb from the waist down but I was conscious. There wasn't much pain but you can be sure that I was screaming curses at you! I- What the hell is so funny?!" she wailed, outraged at the sight of the smile on his face.  
  
"I was thinking of the similarities with the proclamation of my own birth," he told her, pushing her back. " 'Born in blood, heralded by screams. So lives the vanquisher of our enemies...'" His fingers gently grazed the scar on her lower belly, "... prince Trunks."  
  
"Oh." Bulma's entire body broke out into gooseflesh at the cryptic statement. Her heart flooded with her overwhelming love for him and she moved in for a kiss when he shattered the mood with; "Why the fuck did you give him such a stupid name?"  
  
She rolled over, deliberately giving him her back. "Good night, Vegeta," she said coldly.  
  
"I'm serious. What the hell were you thinking?"  
  
"I said: Good night."  
  
"I mean 'Trunks'," he shook his head with dismay. "That's not even close to a Saiyan name."  
  
"You would have preferred Eggplant?" she snapped. "Or how about Rutabaga or Turnip? I think that one's my favorite. Turnip Briefs."  
  
His face darkened. "Vegeta is fine."  
  
"That's his middle name."  
  
"It should have been his first."  
  
"Do you have any idea how confusing that would have been? Everyone would have started calling him Junior."  
  
"Vegeta junior." He recoiled from the thought with a shiver. "These earth customs are going to be the death of me."  
  
"You'll get used to them," she said in a softer tone. The days of their fights lasting longer than a couple of minutes were long behind them. Propping herself up on one elbow, she regarded his face for a long moment and traced errant designs across his firm chest with her fingernail. "I often wonder if things might have turned out differently if you hadn't found out about the pregnancy... that way. I expected you to come back after two or three months. Not seven."  
  
"The craft was damaged and I needed provisions."  
  
"But when you left you only had enough supplies for a maximum of three months. How were you able to extend them?"  
  
A crafty smile crossed his face. "I acquired some finances."  
  
She didn't like how that sounded. "You did some freelance purging?"  
  
"It wasn't necessary."  
  
"Earth money would have been useless currency," she reasoned. "You didn't have anything else to trade except..." Her face blanched and her eyes widened in horror. "Oh no. You-you didn't-"  
  
Vegeta's smug little smile broadened.  
  
"!!YOU USED MY PANTIES FOR BARTER!?!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. She picked up a pillow and began pummeling him with it. "That's disgusting! That's sick! That's- Ohmigod, I can't believe you did that!" All this time she had thought that the Saiyan had kept her underwear as a precious keepsake of their last coupling. The thought of some other depraved alien fondling the material for kicks made her skin crawl.  
  
Easily blocking the assault, Vegeta said with a laugh, "The last I heard, the King of Pryon VI found them a perfect fit."  
  
"AGH!" Bulma put her hands over her ears.  
  
"If I ever return to space remind me to raid your underwear drawer," he continued. "He really liked that pink color."  
  
"Creep!" Bulma pounced on him and the pair fell out of bed in a tangle of sheets. By the time they had finished their tussle, he had her arms pined above her head and his body was holding her down. "Feisty tonight," he remarked, arching one thick eyebrow in amusement.  
  
"That was a lousy thing to do, Vegeta," she fumed.  
  
"A return trip to earth was too far out of my way. That little scrap of fabric kept me in supplies and fuel for another four months."  
  
"I thought that you were... were..."  
  
"-Jerking off with it?" His raunchy grin resurfaced. "I didn't need your panties for that. All I had to do was think about you and I was hard."  
  
"That's so gross."  
  
"But so true," he growled, burrowing his face into the hollow of her neck. "Don't try to tell me that you didn't pleasure yourself when I was away."  
  
Bulma went strikingly silent with this change of topic and he knew that he had touched a nerve. He started laughing when she tried to match his gaze and just couldn't do it. Blushing furiously, she massaged her wrists after he released her, and wished that she had kept her big mouth shut.  
  
"Show me," Vegeta grinned.  
  
Alarmed by the shouts coming from Bulma's room, Gohan crept silently down the hallway and put his ear close to the door. Over the last couple of weeks, the pair had finally taken Chi Chi's advice and quieted down and the sudden fighting concerned the boy.  
  
"-not going to show you!"  
  
Gohan could hear Bulma's strident pitch quite easily, followed by the Saiyan's husky voice, "Oh, now you're going to play the shy virgin? Give me a break. Let's see what's in here-" There was the sound of the drawer in the night stand rattling.  
  
"Get out of there- Oh god!" Bulma yelped.  
  
There was the sound of low buzzing and Gohan frowned in confusion. It was obviously shared by Vegeta who blurted out, "What the hell is this thing?"  
  
"It's my vibrator, you pervert. Give it back!"  
  
"What does it do?"  
  
"I use it to..."  
  
Bulma's voice dropped to a furious whisper and Gohan leaned his ear against the surface of the door. It took some concentration, but he was able to use his keen hearing to pick out the key words in her explanation. It wasn't long before his face filled with hot blood and his groin began to pound. On the other side of the door, the buzzing had started again, accompanied by a low moan of pleasure. Gohan wasn't sure if the sound came from Bulma or Vegeta, and he wasn't going to wait around and find out. Walking slightly bent over, he hurried back to his room and locked the door.  
  
It was going to be another sleepless night.  
  
  
  
A few weeks into the New Year, there was yet another reminder of Frieza's lingering influence over the Saiyan's health. Bulma should have noticed it first, but she had overslept and was late for a meeting and gave Vegeta a rushed peck on the cheek as she left the bedroom. She didn't seem to notice that he hadn't even roused.  
  
Gohan came home from school early and immediately went into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. While he ate, he found a note on the table and read it. Mrs. Briefs had taken Trunks for a walk in the park, it said, and would be back before supper. The boy squinted painfully at the handwriting, holding it at arm's length before setting it down. The school had conducted eye examinations for the students that morning and Gohan had been diagnosed with severe hyperopia due to his farsightedness. The staff nurse made an appointment for him to see an optometrist tomorrow and told him it was very likely that he would need glasses.  
  
Gohan had known about this trouble for some time but hadn't wanted to bring it up with his mother because he knew she would have only complained about the added expense. Ever since her rant at breakfast over Bulma and Vegeta's relationship six weeks ago, she had started hoarding every possible cent in preparation for returning to Mount Pazou after the baby was born. Gohan knew that they were in financial trouble but wasn't sure if it was his place to make an appeal to Bulma for them to continue to stay at Capsule Corporation. He didn't particularly like the fast-paced, impersonal nature of Western Capital, and still didn't fit in at school, but he knew the situation would not improve if they left. Especially not with the addition of a new mouth to feed. He was supposed to be the man of the house now that his father was gone, but he was genuinely at a loss at what he could do.  
  
His small form wracked with tension that went far beyond his limited years, Gohan went upstairs to face his mother. He found her taking a nap in her room and choose not to wake her. Bulma and her father were at work so that left only one other occupant. Gohan knew that Vegeta hadn't been very interested in sparring lately. He had observed in the past that the Saiyan only seemed able to emotionally cope with one thing at a time, and right now he appeared distracted by his intimacy with Bulma. Perhaps with some major pleading, Gohan would be able to work out with him inside of the gravity simulator. It would be just the thing he needed to forget about his present troubles.  
  
Changing into his training gi, Gohan jumped out of the window and landed in the courtyard. He immediately noticed that the gravity simulator wasn't in operation. The hatch was closed and locked but the external lights were not showing any activity. Brushing his hand against the metal, he found the surface cool and knew that it hadn't been used all day. After one of Vegeta's extreme workouts, it wasn't unusual for the exterior of the capsule to smolder for hours.  
  
His nerves were suddenly on edge for no reason he could fathom. Silently debating for a full minute, he finally sent out a polite inquiry: - Vegeta?  
  
No response. He levitated up to one of the view ports and looked through the red-tinted glass for some sight of the Saiyan. The main training level was deserted. Gohan knew that there was a living area beneath the main floor and sent out a more forceful thought: - Vegeta! Is everything all right?  
  
There was the stirrings of a thought and Gohan had to concentrate in order to hear Vegeta's weak response; - ... get lost brat...  
  
Gohan slapped his hands against his forehead, crying out with the backlash of pain he received from the three simple words. For that one instant, he had touched minds with Vegeta and had felt the excruciating agony that currently enfolded the Saiyan's thoughts. Up until this instant, Gohan had been unaware that Vegeta still suffered any after-affects of his past mental trauma and he ran into the building at a frenzied sprint to get some help.  
  
Deep in Chi Chi's womb, there was a direct kick that roused the brunette from her nap. Cradling her stomach protectively, she curled into a miserable ball and lay there shuddering for a few moments before she was able to sit up. The last few weeks of her pregnancy had been absolutely brutal and she still had another month to go before she reached full term. She wasn't sure if she was going to make it. All of the stress she was under seemed to be affecting the baby and causing it to lash out in agitation. Her stomach ached constantly from the assault and her spine felt like it was filled with ground glass. Only her indomitable will forced her to her feet each day and act as if nothing was wrong.  
  
She was just getting out of bed, groaning at the pressure on her swollen ankles, when Gohan rushed into the room. "Mom! There's something wrong with Vegeta!"  
  
Join the club, came her first thought. She vocalized the second: "I don't want to hear about anything that has to do with that murderer. Go find Bulma."  
  
"She's not in her office. Neither is her father. I think they're away to some meeting in the Capital. Mrs. Briefs took Trunks for a walk and won't be back for another hour. I really think that Vegeta is sick-"  
  
"-That's a shame," she responded in a bland tone.  
  
Gohan's face flushed with anger. "I think he's still suffering from Frieza's poison. Can't you show even a little pity-"  
  
"Pity?" Chi Chi released a bitter laugh. "When has that butcher ever felt remorse for what he's done? Have you ever heard him apologize? For anything?"  
  
"Yes," the boy said in a level voice. His dark eyes were focused on his mother and his face looked old beyond its years. "Twice. Mom, you have to let this resentment towards Vegeta go."  
  
"I don't have to do anything!"  
  
"I know you're jealous-"  
  
"!!I AM NOT JEALOUS!!"  
  
"Bulma chose him over you!" Gohan shouted back. "You're bitter that dad chose not to come back to us while Vegeta, of all people, is staying close to Bulma and Trunks. It's driving you crazy!"  
  
There was only stunned silence following that outburst. Completely taken aback by her son's words, Chi Chi could only manage one shocked blink before Gohan said in a softer voice, "You're hurt and I understand how you feel. I want dad back too, but it's not going to happen. I-I've accepted that..." He forced back tears and struggled to continue, "Vegeta has changed. He's my friend and if you don't help him, I swear that I won't go back to Mount Pazou with you. I'll... I'll stay right here. I mean it!"  
  
All of the strength went out of Chi Chi's legs and she would have toppled strengthlessly to the floor if the bed hadn't been right behind her. Her lower lip trembled and she betrayed a choked sob and buried her face in her hands. This betrayal was the final straw, made even worse by Vegeta's apparent foresight into an escalating situation she had been oblivious to.  
  
"I'm beginning to understand why Kakarrot didn't want to come back to life. He knew he'd have to face YOU. I've seen how you ride Gohan. Keep it up and he's going to run away, too."  
  
My family, Chi Chi thought in despair. I-I'm losing my family.  
  
Fighting the urge to go over and comfort her, Gohan stood his ground. He had really only touched the tip of the iceberg with his resentments and fears and he was still very angry with his mother for all of her selfishness. Not just what she had displayed over the last several months, but for the last few years. She had changed ever since the first appearance of the Saiyans, and not for the better. He had finally had enough.  
  
In a remarkably calm voice, given the circumstances, he said, "I'll go do what I can for him. I'm sorry I disturbed you."  
  
He turned to leave and stopped when she called out: "Wait."  
  
Chi Chi was getting slowly back to her feet. She managed to keep her indignation at bay and smothered her tears to face the crisis at hand. When she raised her eyes to her son, Gohan was relieved to see no anger there, just purposeful resolve. "Let's go to the kitchen first."  
  
  
  
"...goodness...he's coming around..."  
  
"...color back to his face. That's a good sign."  
  
"Vegeta? Do you hear me?"  
  
Releasing a low moan, Vegeta put a heavy hand to his forehead and felt a compress lying there. It was cold and sticky and stank to high heaven. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw blurred figures standing around him and recoiled in shock, scampering back on the cot until his back hit the wall. It took a couple of seconds before it registered that the entire Briefs family, as well as Gohan and his mother, were crowded in the small living area beneath the main floor of the gravity simulator. He looked back at their frightened, worried faces and snapped, "What are you all doing down here? I wanted to be left alone."  
  
"Vegeta, we've been trying to wake you up for the last three hours," Dr. Briefs told him gravely.  
  
"We were so worried!" Mrs. Briefs chimed in, dabbing at her eyes with a hanky.  
  
"I'm fine. Get out," the Saiyan growled, pulling the herbal poultice from his forehead and staring at it in disgust.  
  
"You heard him," Bulma said evenly, holding Trunks in her arms. The baby was staring fixedly at his father with his lavender brows knitted together in rapt attention. "The show is over. I'll handle things from here."  
  
"Bulma-" Chi Chi started but she was cautioned by a deliberate shake of the head. Not now, Bulma's gesture said. Gohan took her hand and led her out of the capsule. Bulma handed Trunks over to her mother and calmly waited for her parents to leave.  
  
For a long time, Vegeta stared at the compress in his hand before he finally dared to look up at Bulma. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment when he said in a low voice. "None of this was necessary-"  
  
"Wrong, Vegeta. It's apparently long overdue," she told him in a clipped tone of voice. "I just checked the activity logs of the simulator. You've been holing yourself in here, catching naps in the afternoon ever since you came back to Capsule Corporation. You've been trying to pass it off as if you're training-"  
  
"-I am training!"  
  
"Not like before. Not every day. I sent my mother to go fetch the painkillers that I'd given you and she told me that the bottle was empty."  
  
Vegeta's lips became a bloodless white line and a muscle began to jump in the corner of his jaw. He tried to give her an irritated glare and ended up looking away in defeat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he didn't react until she reached out and took his hand. She wasn't surprised to find that it was cold to the touch. "You're still suffering from that terrible poison. Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I thought I was getting better," he admitted. "The headaches weren't as frequent. I was getting stronger. Then this morning..." He shook his head an immediately winced from the brief action.  
  
Bulma searched his face and saw that it was still too pale for her liking. His left eye was slightly bloodshot and he was obviously still in some pain, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Guiltily, she realized that their passionate lovemaking marathons weren't doing him any good by depriving his depleted system of the much-needed rest it so desperately required. Rather than push her away, he had chosen to sacrifice hours of precious training time to catch up on his sleep. She didn't know whether to hug him or slug him.  
  
"Lay down," she said at last. "It's dark and quiet down here. Get all the sleep that you need."  
  
If it had been anyone else telling him what to do, he would have stormed out of the capsule right then and there. Instead, he regarded her for a long time and finally relented. When he stretched out on the cot, she covered him with a spare blanket and tried to replace the compress on his forehead. "Get that disgusting thing away from me," he barked, squirming away from it.  
  
"Leave it on. I really think that it helped. Chi Chi made it just for you. Some old family recipe, she said." Bulma slapped it down above his eyes, watching in amusement how his nose wrinkled with loathing at the feel of the damp cloth on his skin.  
  
"If she thinks I'm going to thank her, she'll have a long wait," he grumbled.  
  
"I don't think she's looking for any gratitude. As funny as it sounds, I think it was meant as an apology on her part."  
  
"I don't care. She's NOT staying."  
  
Bulma didn't answer. Despite her terse words she knew that she couldn't, in good conscience, throw her best friend's widow out of the house. Not with a newborn in her arms. It was a dangerous gamble: Keep Chi Chi and lose Vegeta. Or visa versa. Which choice was the best?  
  
"Get some rest," she chose to say instead. She kissed him and headed for the stairs.  
  
Vegeta had seen her indecision over the issue and hadn't liked it one little bit. "Bulma..." he said in a warning tone.  
  
"I'll bring you something to eat in a little while."  
  
"!!BULMA!!" he roared and immediately cradled his aching head and gave up on further debate. Just before he succumbed to his exhaustion, he brooded; That bitch can't stay here. She can't! My plan had better work or...  
  
He was asleep before he could finish the thought.  
  
  
  
With unusual chagrin, Chi Chi made a plea to Bulma to give her the chance to stay at Capsule Corporation until she could earn enough money to support her family on her own. She also threw in that an intelligent boy like Gohan deserved a decent education rather than having to work on a farm for minimum wage. As if all this guilt wasn't plaguing Bulma enough, Vegeta was constantly nagging her about her weakness to deal with the issue once and for all. Part of the problem with his mood was that he was pissed off that Bulma had cut him back to only having sex once a night. During one of his rants, she had finally kicked him out of the bed and the pair had spent the first night since his return, sleeping in separate rooms. (In all honesty, sleep had been really the last thing that either did and they had reconciled by early morning.) He finally gave up complaining but he wasn't happy. Not by a long shot.  
  
As a result, a wary truce settled over the Headquarters building. The Saiyan started to eat meals at the table again but only because Mrs. Briefs was assisting in meal preparation and it was enough of a compromise so that he didn't lose face. Chi Chi spent more time resting and less time bitching as she neared the delivery date, and became much easier to live with. Gohan hovered nervously around her, catering to her every request. Neither person brought up the tense exchange that they had shared in her bedroom. There were days when Chi Chi wanted to make some comment until she looked into poor Gohan's face and immediately forget her words.  
  
Just as the school nurse had predicted, the boy had been fitted with glasses, big ugly ones. The first time that he had worn them at the table, Vegeta had almost choked on a mouthful of peas. "Tough break, boy," he managed to get out.  
  
It was a commiseration that Gohan shared.  
  
More times than not, he deliberately left them behind on his dresser when he headed to school. That only made things worse when his mother would knock on the door to his classroom, interrupting a lesson, so that she could give him his glasses in front of everyone. As a result, his schoolyard nickname of "Bumpkin" was quickly replaced with "Squint". As he endured the cruel ribbing, he wished he had been the one to die during the Cell games instead of his father.  
  
On a Tuesday morning in February, Chi Chi noticed that Gohan had left for school without wearing his glasses again and went up to his room to retrieve them. She was getting tired of these silly acts of defiance. She had better things to do in the limited spans of time when she was actually on her feet, than chase after him. After a fruitless search of his room, it appeared as if the boy had deliberately hidden the darned things for good. Muttering to herself, she expanded her search to the living room, dining room, and finally downstairs in one of the computer labs where the boy often did some research for school projects. She discovered the empty carrying case that the glasses came in but no sign of the actual eyewear.  
  
Imagining her meager savings going sailing out the window at the thought of buying another pair, she went in search of Bulma. Her intention was to make a veiled insinuation that Capsule Corp. had a thief on the payroll that liked to collect adolescent spectacles for kicks.  
  
As she scurried around the labyrinth of corridors, she skidded to a stop when she heard Vegeta's voice coming from one of the labs, "-can't believe this..."  
  
"Look, li'l buddy-"  
  
"Stop calling me that!"  
  
"-The data-sorting algorithm you specified isn't working. The whole model keeps crashing over and over."  
  
"Small wonder," the Saiyan commented as Chi Chi poked her head around the side of the door. He and a lab technician, a co-worker of Bulma's she knew vaguely as Charles, were studying a computer monitor. A few more assistants were keeping a respectable distance while they watched the pair in silence. "You have the recursion variables entered wrong. It's causing an infinite regress of the program. Idiot!"  
  
"You could see that in all those lines of code?" the scientist said in a stunned voice. He sat down in front of the computer and began a closer scrutiny of the data. "Holy crap, you're right!"  
  
"Of course I'm right," Vegeta huffed as he straightened. Chi Chi could see that he was in his jogging clothes and her eyes widened when she noticed something else. "I told you before: enter the computations in terms of priority I clearly specified in the design. Switch them around and- "  
  
"Vegeta!" Chi Chi charged into the room.  
  
The Saiyan snapped his head around and his eyes widened comically behind what he was wearing. "Oh shit-"  
  
"What are you doing wearing Gohan's glasses?!" the brunette snapped, ripping them off of his face. "He needs these!"  
  
Blushing furiously, Vegeta tried to call up a defense and simply crossed his arms; his only nonverbal response when words completely failed him. Charles had practically dragged him from his morning jog and showed him the problems they were having with the code of a program based on one of his designs. One look at that near-microscopic print had immediately started a headache to form in the back of his brain. He had snatched Gohan's glasses from the computer table in an act borne of desperation. That he actually needed them was bad enough (his farsightedness was even worse than Gohan's), but to have Chi Chi catch him wearing them was ten times worse.  
  
The matter got even more complicated when Bulma walked into the lab. "What's with the yelling? Chi Chi? What's wrong?"  
  
"My little Gohan is going to school half-blind because Vegeta is wearing his glasses!" she spat out, waving them in the air.  
  
Bulma glanced at Vegeta with raised eyebrows of surprise but the Saiyan appeared to have found something interesting on the ceiling to stare at.  
  
"Hey, for what it's worth, I thought he looked pretty cool," Charles supplied helpfully.  
  
"Shut up, idiot," Vegeta growled under his breath.  
  
Wishing that she could have arrived just a few minutes earlier, Bulma said, "Well, what's done is done. 'Chi, you have the glasses now. I'm sure that Gohan will need them to- 'Chi? What's wrong?"  
  
The brunette was staring down at herself with a bewildered expression on her face. All at once, clear liquid began running down her legs to form a puddle on the floor. "Oh," she said in a soft voice and suddenly doubled over, gripping her stomach. "Oh god!"  
  
Bulma knew instantly what was happening. "Vegeta, you have to fly her to the hospital."  
  
"I'm not touching her!" he yelled, backing away. "She's leaking!"  
  
"Her water just broke," Bulma explained. "She's going into labor!"  
  
The Saiyan still wasn't making any move towards her. Bulma could hardly believe the look of disgusted panic etched on his face. Here was an alien solely responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths and yet when faced with the prospect of a birth, he looked close to bolting. She shook her head in rising anger. "Damn it, Vegeta! Either you can take her to the hospital or you can help deliver the baby right here! Pick one!"  
  
That got his legs moving. "Which hospital?"  
  
"Capital General," Chi Chi rasped as he picked her up. "You-you'll have to hurry. It's c-coming!"  
  
To say that Vegeta broke the sound barrier in his haste to get her to the hospital was an underestimation. Bulma called the situation ahead and a nurse was waiting for them with a wheelchair when he landed outside of the Emergency doors. After getting her settled in, she was quickly wheeled into the nearest elevator.  
  
Still not comfortable with hospitals, Vegeta didn't enter the building and sat on a bench to wait for Bulma. She didn't disappoint him by arriving within a few minutes.  
  
"How is she?" she asked, almost out of breath with excitement after she had parked the car.  
  
Vegeta simply shrugged.  
  
"Don't you know?"  
  
"What do I care? It's not my kid she's having."  
  
Rolling her eyes, Bulma charged through the double doors and was halfway to the admissions desk when she realized that Vegeta wasn't with her. He was still standing outside in the ambulance bay.  
  
She walked back in exasperation. "Aren't you coming inside?"  
  
He looked uneasily at the building and finally shook his head.  
  
Place of poisons and pain, Bulma remembered. That was Vegeta's description of a hospital now; after all he'd endured. She wasn't going to force him to deal with his fears right now. "Alright. Thank you for bringing her. I'll call and let you know how things turn out." She kissed him on the cheek and then rushed inside.  
  
Vegeta watched her leave with mixed emotions in his dark eyes. The dominant one being: Relief. Kakarrot's wife was finally squeezing out the brat and that meant only one thing.  
  
It was time to put his plan into action.  
  
  
  
Bulma made all of the necessary phone calls from her cellphone and it wasn't long before all of the Z Fighters were gathered in the waiting room. As opposed to the tense scene with Trunks' hospital stay three months before, this time there was a sense of exhilaration to everyone's mood. In a way, it seemed as if Gokou was among them once more as they all waited expectantly for the birth of his second child.  
  
Gohan was pacing the room as if he was the father instead of a big brother, and everyone watched him with amusement as he fretted over the time it was taking. Mrs. Briefs arrived with several store-bought platters of cold cuts and treats and the atmosphere became almost jovial as everyone shared stories of past adventures.  
  
Walking the halls with Trunks, Bulma was telling the boy about his own birth when Yamcha came up along side of her. "Not too long now," the fighter commented with an easy smile.  
  
"No, they just wheeled her into delivery," Bulma said. Chi Chi was determined to have a natural birth and the heiress wondered if it was meant as another jab that she had chosen the quicker way with a caesarian.  
  
Nodding slowly to himself, he continued, "It can't have been too easy. Y'know, with... her in the house."  
  
"There were some tense moments," she said neutrally.  
  
"Some bickering and name-calling, I imagine."  
  
"Sometimes."  
  
"Yeah, I'll bet," he laughed but Bulma wasn't fooled by the issue that he was really dancing around. Ever since the destruction of Ivory city, he had kept his distance from Capsule Corp. Not so much as a visit, a call, or a letter and she knew why. "Yamcha, Vegeta and I have worked everything out."  
  
"Did I ask?" the fighter gave an innocent shrug.  
  
"No, but I know that you were curious."  
  
"He'll never love you as much as I did, Bulma," the fighter confessed and Bulma was relieved to finally hear her ex-lover use the past tense. "He'll never marry you and that's what you deserve most; To live happily ever after- Just like in a fairy tale."  
  
"I don't know, Yamcha. He is a prince and he's full of surprises. It's really too soon to tell."  
  
Yamcha snorted sourly but he kept his comments to himself. He knew that the chances of the pair ever getting hitched were even poorer then when he had dated her. "Speaking of Vegeta, where is he?"  
  
"Home. This isn't his scene," she said, intentionally keeping the explanation vague. She had called the headquarters building twice and only got the answering machine both times. For some reason, she didn't think the Saiyan was anywhere near the building. So where could he be?  
  
Yamcha just snorted again.  
  
  
  
On the other side of the Capital, a large training doujin was filled to capacity with eager young students who wanted to learn martial arts from a master. All of the walls were filled with posters and pictures of the man in various, outlandish poses. Strutting up and down the lines of trainees was the owner and instructor that they all revered. He was spouting his usual rambling dialogue and they hung on his every single word.  
  
"You're here to learn from the best!" Mr. Satan barked. "Well, I'm the best there is at what I do. Nobody else can even come close to my raw might!"  
  
He stopped in front of one trembling little six-year-old who only came to the height of his belt buckle. "You down there! Hit me with your best shot."  
  
His eyes as wide as saucers, the little boy looked as if he was about to pee his pants.  
  
"C'mon!" Mr. Satan ordered, pointing to his belly (which had grown considerably since the Cell Games thanks to all of his endorsements). "Hard as you can!"  
  
Biting down on his lower lip, the boy swallowed once and then punched the hairy behemoth as hard as he could. Mr. Satan released a barking cough of surprise and then swept the little boy up, spun him above his head, and then slammed him down on the mat. There were humbled "ooo's" and "ahhh's" from the gathered students as they stood around the stunned child.  
  
"You see? Soon all of you will be able to defend yourselves from any savage attack," Mr. Satan boasted. "Is there anyone else who would dare take a shot at me?"  
  
There were startled shouts from the back of the class and a column of students hastily parted to allow a solitary figure step up to the mat. Mr. Satan turned expectantly to confront this new challenge but his eyes bulged when he caught sight of a figure in blue spandex complimented by white armor, gloves and boots.  
  
"Sure, I'll take a shot," Vegeta smirked.  
  
  
  
"What's taking so long?" Gohan fussed as he walked around in aimless circles. Piccolo reached out and grabbed his shoulder to stop him from pacing. The boy's movements were making him dizzy.  
  
"Okay, lay your bets," Oolong was asking as he made notations into a little notebook. "Boy or girl?"  
  
"Ten bucks it's a girl," Mr. Roshi said eagerly. "I just loooove little girls." The entire room went silent as everyone stared at him in horror. "Uhmmm... maybe that didn't come out quite right," he relented, slumping back into his seat.  
  
Tien and Chiaotzu exchanged raised eyebrows but wisely kept their comments to themselves. They looked around as a doctor in surgical scrubs walked into the waiting room. Everyone held their breath in expectation.  
  
The doctor removed his mask and walked right up to Gohan and shook his hand. "Congratulations Mr. Son. Your mother has given birth to a healthy eight-pound, two-ounce baby boy."  
  
"I have a brother?" Gohan's thoughts felt like they were swimming in molasses. "I have a brother!" he yelled in relief. He hugged Piccolo and then did the circuit while everyone patted him on the back.  
  
Slipping out into the hall, Bulma tried calling the Headquarters building again to relate the good news to Vegeta.  
  
He still wasn't home.  
  
  
  
"What's the matter?" Vegeta asked as he slowly circled the huge wrestler. "Don't like a challenge from someone who's not in the second grade?"  
  
Mr. Satan looked like he had deflated in his dark clothes. He recognized the man taunting him, oh yes indeed. The hairstyle was different but he would never forget that piercing dead gaze as long as he lived. This was the fighter at the Cell Games who had arrived arena-side first and put the run to the announcer with just a few clipped words. He wasn't quite sure of the name; Fajita? Begonia? "Wh-what do you want?"  
  
"It should be obvious."  
  
"I don't want any trouble in here. Understand?"  
  
"Tough. You've got trouble, furball."  
  
"I didn't do nothing to you!"  
  
"Wrong again."  
  
Gathered around them, there was an undercurrent among the students as they whispered among themselves.  
  
"...who is that guy?"  
  
"I remember him. He was at the Cell Games, too."  
  
"Why isn't Mr. Satan fighting him?"  
  
"... looks scared."  
  
"...chicken..."  
  
Mr. Satan didn't appreciate being ridiculed in front of his students. Taking a deep breath, he stopped his slouching, flexed his muscles and towered over the short Saiyan as he bellowed, "Fine! You dare challenge me? Take this!"  
  
He charged, moving with about as much grace and skill as a wounded rhino. With a bored expression on his face, Vegeta sidestepped at the last possible moment and then drove his elbow into the fighter's back as he stumbled by, driving him down into the mat. With that pathetic display, the human reminded him of Nappa and that was probably the only reason why he didn't kick the man while he was down.  
  
"I see that you need a break," Vegeta said with disdain. "That's fine. I'll take this moment to warm up." Crossing his arms, he gave a half-hearted kick at the two hundred pound punching bag beside him. The blow sent the object crashing through the nearest wall, into the office next door, and out across the street where it collided with a parked car.  
  
Staring at the huge hole in his once-immaculate new building, Mr. Satan said the only thing that actually made sense. "Class dismissed," he weakly croaked.  
  
Obviously, none of the students wanted to leave and it took some coaxing to get them to go. They lingered outside of the building staring in the windows and Mr. Satan rushed around to pull down the blinds. There wasn't much he could do about the hole in the wall and a crowd had already gathered around, looking in. It wouldn't be long before the police showed up. Mr. Satan only hoped that they wouldn't be calling for a coroner.  
  
His curly hair soaked in nervous sweat, he turned to the man who was walking along the wall looking at all of the pictures and trophies and plaques. "You've done very well for yourself, I see," Vegeta remarked.  
  
"Th-thanks."  
  
"It wasn't meant as a compliment," the Saiyan growled.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"What did you do to deserve all of this wealth?"  
  
Mr. Satan immediately got swept up in the lie that had made him famous around the globe. "Why, I defeated Cell, of course! All by myself with just my amazing fists as a weapon against his-"  
  
Moving with that uncanny speed of his, Vegeta silenced him with a deliberate blow to the diaphragm. All of the breath went out of the immense man and he collapsed to his knees with a tortured gasp. Even so, he was still taller than the Saiyan but at least not by so much. They were almost eye-to-eye now. "Don't you dare try to bullshit me," Vegeta growled, poking him in the chest. "The other pathetic earthlings may buy your garbage but don't waste it on me. I was there, remember?"  
  
Fighting to get his voice back, Mr. Satan rasped out, "...I remember..."  
  
"I watched you cower behind a rock while the actual fighting went on. It took an eleven-year-old boy to beat Cell, not you. I think that they should know that."  
  
Mr. Satan looked at him and then to where he was staring at; the hole where people were gathering. Someone had a camera and was taking pictures and if it was a reporter, the fighter knew he was sunk for sure. "No- NO! Don't tell them, don't tell anyone. I-I'll do anything you want! PLEASE!"  
  
It was just what Vegeta wanted to hear.  
  
  
  
"He looks just like you when you were born," Chi Chi told Gohan as she cradled her new son. It was early evening and most of the fighters had left for home now that the excitement was over.  
  
"Really?" Gohan gently held his little brother's hand, marveling at the tiny fingernails and knuckles.  
  
Nodding, she said, "Same dark hair, same white skin, same-" A length of dark brown fur uncoiled from the blanket and flailed briefly in the air before wrapping around her arm. "Same little tail," she finished with a giggle.  
  
"Are you going to let him keep it?" Bulma asked, sitting beside her as she let Trunks ogle the new arrival. The rapt expression on the boy's face seemed to be saying; Listen here, punk. I'm the older of the two so you had better get used to that. I'm the boss.  
  
"I wouldn't dream of depriving him of something he was born with. It just wouldn't be right for me to-" She glanced at Trunks and then noticed the wounded expression on the other woman's face. "...Oh. I'm sorry, Bulma. I didn't mean-"  
  
"-Yes, you did," Bulma said coldly. She picked up Trunks and walked out of the room, fumbling with her cellphone. She dialed her home number again and this time slumped against the wall when the phone was picked up on the second ring. "Vegeta?"  
  
"You woke me up."  
  
"Sorry," Bulma muttered.  
  
"So, is there another spawn of Kakarrot I have to worry about?"  
  
"Chi Chi gave birth to a son about three hours ago."  
  
"Great," came the less then ecstatic response.  
  
"There were no complications," Bulma said, snuffling back tears. "A healthy baby boy, with all of his fingers and toes and-and-"  
  
"Are you crying?" There was actually a note of concern in his voice.  
  
"Yes," she admitted. "Chi Chi made a cheap shot about Trunks' tail."  
  
"You won't have to worry about her for much longer. I took care of things."  
  
A sense of alarm swept through her. "Where were you this afternoon?"  
  
"I had to go visit an old friend. He should be showing up soon. Wait around for it, should be quite a show."  
  
"Vegeta, what the hell did you do?" she hissed into the phone.  
  
"Nobody got killed. Bruised, maybe, certainly humiliated, but no blood was shed. Let me know how things turn out."  
  
"Vegeta-"  
  
-Click.  
  
Bulma stared at the phone in disbelief. Just as she started dialing again, there was a commotion down the hall. Flashbulbs were going off and there was a multitude of voices shouting questions, and one bawled out: "Where is he? Where is that brave little warrior?"  
  
Rounding the corner, Mr. Satan appeared followed by an entourage of reporters and film crews. A harried-looking nurse was leading them straight to Chi Chi's room and, for a change, Bulma and Trunks were completely overlooked as the crowd swept past them to cram into the small room.  
  
Standing in the background, Bulma watched as the huge fighter took a place beside Gohan, wrapping one huge arm around the boy while he made faces at the new baby. It wasn't surprising with all of the excitement that the baby started crying and Chi Chi held him protectively while she stared daggers at the unwanted arrivals. "What's going on? What are all of you people doing in here?"  
  
"We're live in three...two...one!" called out one of Mr. Satan's staff. Off camera, another member began holding up a script written on large placards.  
  
"Ms. Son," Mr. Satan spoke up using his most charming bass rumble. "I extend my most sincerest regards with the arrival of your newest bundle of joy. I know that it hasn't been easy for you, losing your brave, heroic husband to the likes of that terrible monster, Cell."  
  
"What are you-"  
  
Mr. Satan pulled Gohan close to his side and spoke directly into the nearest camera. "This brave young lad lost his father to the Cell Games. He was right there on the battlefield to pay witness to the carnage that evil villain brought into all of our lives. I am ashamed to admit that I overlooked the deep, personal trauma that this wonderful family has suffered. I assure you that my guilt and my pain is real." His voice broke and the camera zoomed in as he rubbed away a false tear.  
  
Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, he pulled out a slip of paper and presented it to Chi Chi. "Ms. Son, on the behalf of me, my staff, the Western Capital, and the entire world, I present this cheque to you as some meager means of compensation for the tragic loss your family has suffered. I hope that you can find it in your heart to accept it-"  
  
"Give me that!" Chi Chi snatched the cheque out of his hand and examined it very carefully. "We're rich!" she shouted to Gohan.  
  
Mr. Satan's broad smile flagged and he fought to maintain it. "Let the world know that I care about all of its citizens; young or old, rich or poor, strong or weak-"  
  
"We're rich! We're rich!" Chi Chi chanted over and over.  
  
"What do you plan to do with the money, Ms. Son?" one reporter asked.  
  
"Hey!" Mr. Satan bawled. "I wasn't done."  
  
"I'm going back home," Chi Chi said with tears in her eyes. She hugged Gohan and kissed the baby and corrected herself. "We're finally going home."  
  
Watching all of this from the corridor, Bulma couldn't stop the smile that stretched her lips. "I'll be damned..." She hugged Trunks and spun him around laughing in delight. "Your father is a genius, you know that?" she proudly told the boy.  
  
Trunks only responded with a gloating little smile. He knew it.  
  
Epilogue  
  
After returning from the hospital, Chi Chi and Gohan were only at the Headquarters building long enough to get packed before they left for Mount Pazou with their newly acquired wealth. They would never learn that Vegeta had blackmailed Mr. Satan to share a portion of his ill-gained fortune with the Son family or risk exposure that Gohan had done his dirty work for him. Only Bulma knew about it and she rewarded the Saiyan for his ingenious scheme by temporarily lifting the once-a-night rule. The pair fooled around on Chi Chi's bed all night long and screamed as much as they wanted.  
  
A few weeks later, Bulma got a phone call from Krillin. He had asked Android 18 to marry him and damned if 18 hadn't said yes. Relating the news to Vegeta, she saw an odd look came over his face that she had never seen before. "Are you okay?"  
  
He said he was fine but the next morning he packed up some clothes and said that he needed to get away from the Capital for a few days. Bulma was completely floored by his sudden change in personality. She had thought that if there were any time he would be running away, it would have happened while Chi Chi was still in the building. Not now!  
  
He didn't give her any kind of excuse and left without offering her any consolation. He didn't even bother to say good-bye to Trunks. Too mad to shed any tears, Bulma could only be soothed by the fact that their son didn't appear the least bit troubled by his father's odd departure. If anything, the boy appeared to be even more cheerful, giggling whenever she came near. It was as if he was privy to a wonderful secret that he couldn't form the words to share. That made Bulma secretly wonder what other schemes were possibly brewing inside of the Saiyan's head.  
  
Two days later, she was in her office thoroughly engrossed in paperwork when Staci knocked on her door and opened it wide enough to stick her head in. "Ms. Briefs?"  
  
"I'm busy, Staci."  
  
"Ms. Briefs, I really think you-" The door was forced open and Vegeta sauntered in as if his brief absence had never occurred. His clothes were ripped and caked with dirt and his face was streaked with grime.  
  
"Vegeta, where have you been?" Bulma asked in alarm. He looked as if he had been in a brawl.  
  
Reaching into the pocket of his coat, Vegeta withdrew an object slightly larger than a baseball and threw it onto her desk. It was a filthy rock.  
  
"There!" he said, crossing his arms haughtily. "I won't be upstaged by some three-foot tall midget."  
  
She didn't want to touch it but he appeared to be waiting for her to say or do something. "...uhm, thank you Vegeta. It-It's lovely."  
  
It was apparently what he had wanted to hear. He gave a satisfied nod and then left her office to go get cleaned up. Bulma wondered if he had hit his head while he was away. Staring at the rock he had given her, she pushed it to one side with her pen and tried to wipe off the grime it left on the report she had been working on.  
  
She was just in the process of rewriting it when Charles walked in. "Hey there, highness. I'm off to the deli, any requests?"  
  
"Just the usual," she said in a distracted tone.  
  
"Cool paperweight," he remarked, staring at the rock on her desk in a strange way. He experimentally scratched at it with his fingernail.  
  
"You want it? It's yours." Bulma knew that among other eccentric hobbies, Charles was also an amateur geologist.  
  
Mindless of the dirt, he hefted it in his palm for a moment, testing the weight, and then rubbed it against his lab coat. The action exposed a clear, translucent surface. "Bulma, where did you get this?"  
  
"Vegeta found it somewhere," she gave a distracted wave until the scientist's dumbfounded silence penetrated her concentration. She looked up to see the man staring at the rock with a mixture of wonder and astonishment. "Why? What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing. I'd have to run some tests to be sure but..." he lapsed into another rare period of speechlessness before managing to get out, "I'm pretty sure that this is a diamond. A big one."  
  
It was fortunate that Bulma had been sitting down when she heard that or she would have been on the floor.  
  
Once he was finished with his shower, Vegeta went into the kitchen to help himself to some leftovers. He was just polishing off his second plate of food when Bulma burst in, gasping and out of breath.  
  
"You're too late, I ate the last chicken wing," he said smugly.  
  
She held up the huge diamond in one shaking hand. Her lips were trembling as she forced out the words, "Why-why did you give me this?"  
  
He leaned back in his chair and exhaled resignedly. "It should be obvious."  
  
"You... you-you and me... you want t-to-to-"  
  
"I'm not going to ask you," Vegeta interrupted her, "And I certainly won't beg. I gave you the gemstone as part of the ritual. The rest is entirely up to you. Yes or no?"  
  
Bulma felt all of the blood in her entire body turn to ice. The room actually appeared to grey out for one instant before things came slowly swimming back. Vegeta didn't move, staring at her with an expression torn between impatience and boredom.  
  
Her paralysis broke when she realized that he wasn't joking and she wailed at the top of her lungs: "!!OHMIGOD! YES! YES, I'LL MARRY YOU VEGETA!!"  
  
She dove into his arms with such force that they fell to the floor and she burst into noisy, braying tears while she smothered his face with kisses. Trapped underneath of her, Vegeta passively surrendered to the assault while he privately wondered just what kind of hell he was getting himself into.  
  
Looking into Bulma's sparkling, tear-filled eyes, he was surprised to discover that he couldn't wait to find out.  
~The End  
  
************************************************************  
  
*whew* Yes, this is the last chapter of "Two Sides to a Story". I want to thank everyone who stuck around for this lengthy tale. It's been quite a wild ride!  
  
I'm pleased to make the announcement that there WILL be a sequel to this tale: "A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON" will be coming July 2003!  
  
Hope to have you along for this new adventure! 


End file.
